


when the sun came up (you were looking at me)

by charonsdescent



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Aged-Up Peter Parker, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Blow Jobs, Canon Divergence - Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Sexual Content, Grief/Mourning, I'm sorry I love her though, M/M, Morgan Stark (Marvel Cinematic Universe) Needs a Hug, Mutual Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Not Spider-Man: Far From Home Compliant, Oral Sex, Past Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Pepper Potts Dies, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Precious Morgan Stark (Marvel Cinematic Universe), Resolved Sexual Tension, Sex, Sexual Content, Slow Burn, Tony Stark Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-01
Updated: 2020-04-17
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:40:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 28
Words: 92,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22070446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charonsdescent/pseuds/charonsdescent
Summary: After Pepper dies, Peter helps Tony pick up the pieces. Only picking up the pieces becomes a little more complicated when a new CEO (who may or may not be Harry Osborn) comes into the picture.And picking up the pieces becomes even more complicated when both Tony and Peter start looking at each other a little differently.*Updated twice a week, takes place about five years after Endgame.
Relationships: Peter Parker/Tony Stark
Comments: 235
Kudos: 693





	1. ONE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [moodboard here](https://spark.adobe.com/post/X5vSsrx16fJlz)

The sky was too bright and too blue for a funeral.

It wasn’t fair.

But then again, the sky had been blue on the day of Ben’s funeral, and Peter was pretty sure the sky had been blue on his parents’ funeral, too. It only ever seemed to rain whenever Peter revisited the gravestones, but now, as Peter watched cars pull up to the house, he realized with a throbbing, dull pain that it might be a while before he could revisit this particular grave.

“Hey.” 

Peter turned around. May stood behind him, her eyes watery and red, but she had wiped off most of her makeup after the funeral services. Without another word, Peter rested his forehead on May’s shoulder. “It’s been a long day, huh?” May said quietly, rubbing her hand gently over Peter’s back.

Peter only nodded into May’s shoulder, not knowing what more he could say. Because it had been a long day. Too long. Too saturated with more wet and red eyes. “Where’s Morgan?” Peter only asked, and his throat tightened just saying her name, because he remembered how Morgan had acted at the beginning of the funeral. Tears streaked down her cheeks, face buried into Tony’s side as the coffin was lowered into the ground.

“She’s sleeping,” May replied. “She’ll wake up when everyone else comes in, I think.”

“And Tony?” Peter asked, pulling himself away from May.

May pressed her lips together. “I think he went to the bedroom.”

“By himself?”

“I know,” May said quietly.

The doorbell rang, and May squeezed Peter’s hand. “I’ll go get that,” she said, and the look she gave Peter was all enough that Peter needed for him to walk out of his own room and towards the master bedroom. Despite the fact that Peter had paced these hallways and floorboards of Tony’s house for nearly six years, the way to Tony’s—Tony and _Pepper’s_ room suddenly felt empty and unfamiliar, as though all of the air had been sucked out and replaced with some cheap scent from a pharmacy. He passed Morgan in the living room. The girl was curled up on the couch, her knees brought up to her chest and her dark hair falling in her face. And even though Morgan was going to enter fifth grade in the fall, she looked smaller than ever. Peter paused by the couch, watching Morgan’s bottom lip tremble against the couch cushions. Even in sleep, it seemed she knew what was going on around her.

Peter snuck around the couch and picked up one of the woven blankets at the foot of the seats. Morgan didn’t stir even as Peter laid the blanket over her; she curled deeper inwards, but Peter took that as a sign that maybe she would just enter a new realm of sleep where she wouldn’t remember that her mother was truly, really gone.

Which left Tony.

The door was slightly ajar when Peter reached Tony’s room, but Peter knocked anyways. “Mr. Stark?”

When no immediate answer came, Peter looked into the bedroom, and his heart sank. Tony was sitting at the foot of the bed, back ramrod straight. Eyes looking straight ahead at nothing and everything, Peter knew. He knew because he had seen that same expression in May’s face when Ben had died, and Peter knew he had been wearing the same expression when his parents died. How he had looked at the rooms around him and replayed images of how his parents had been walking around the house.

“Hey,” Peter whispered, pushing open the door. Tony lifted his head towards Peter, and for a minute, Peter worried that Tony was seeing right through him, too, but then Tony rubbed his eyes and gave him a weary, halfhearted smile. How Tony could even smile, Peter wasn’t sure, but he took that as a somewhat good sign.

“May said you were in here,” Peter said, still hovering by the doorway. “The others will be coming soon, but she—well, we—wanted to check if there’s anything more we can do.”

Tony shook his head. Just one single movement of the head—not even a word.

“Okay,” Peter said. He nodded his head once, and then he added, “And Morgan’s sleeping in the living room.”

Tony nodded.

“Okay,” Peter repeated. He could tell Tony wasn’t going to say anything else, but Peter didn’t expect him to say anything else, either. “Okay,” Peter repeated for the third time, and letting his hand fall from the door, he asked, “Is it okay if I come in?”

Peter thought Tony would shake his head again, but there—Tony gave the slightest, barely perceptible nod, and Peter felt himself move into the bedroom. He slowly lowered himself next to Tony at the foot of the bed, and for a moment, the two sat together like that.

They didn’t move, not even when Peter heard the front door opening on the other end of the house. He heard the steady rhythm of footsteps, the distant murmurs of friends. When Tony didn’t stand up, Peter pushed himself off the bed. He felt Tony’s eyes follow him as he pushed the bedroom door closed.

When Peter turned around, Tony looked almost relieved, and Peter could tell because his shoulders relaxed just the slightest.

“Probably should go out there,” Tony said when Peter sat down again. “Bad manners for the host to not show up to the after party.”

“No one would blame you,” Peter replied.

“Pepper would.”

“Tony—” But Peter couldn’t bring himself to say anything more, not when Tony turned to look at him. His eyes were glassy, too clear, and when the first tear rolled down Tony’s cheek, Peter wished he could catch it with his finger. He didn’t.

“She wouldn’t blame you,” Peter said. “Not in a million years.”

Tony blinked a few times, as though blinking would help him register Peter’s words. And then, wiping a hand across his eyes, Tony stood up as though there were heavy weights in his pockets. “Well,” Tony said, dropping his hand to his side, “blame or not, it’s time to face the music.” Tony cleared his throat a few times, and he looked down at Peter. He didn’t even have to ask anything—Peter stood up and walked out the bedroom with Tony.

The rest of the team was already waiting when Tony and Peter reached the living room. The next few hours morphed into a blur of hugs and pats on the back and brave, wobbly smiles. There was food. May had brought things, and so had Bruce, but Peter noticed that Tony didn’t eat anything. Neither did Morgan.

The evening eventually turned to night, and as the sun was replaced by the moon, people eventually started trickling out. Peter saw more embraces than he had seen earlier that day. “We’re here whenever you need us,” Peter heard Steve say from the front door. “You know that.”

And when Peter looked up, he caught a glimpse of Tony’s sad smile. And as the last of the visitors dissipated, that sad smile slowly sank into nothing but an empty, hollowed out expression that left Tony standing in the doorway. Alone.

Peter glanced over at May. She was helping Morgan build a fort out of the couch pillows and blankets, but when May caught Peter’s eye, she only gave him a small nod. They would be here for a little while longer.

Peter only just turned his head back to the door when Tony started walking back into the house. He walked over to the kitchen, methodically picking up the plates that everyone had already cleaned after using. They all sat in a neat pile next to the sink, just waiting to be put in their proper places.

Peter wordlessly walked over to Tony and helped pick up the plates. The two of them moved in tandem. Peter pushed plates and glasses into cabinets, slipped silverware in their designated spots in the drawers. All the while, he watched Tony out of the corner of his eye. Tony, with his head bent and the weariness etched all over his face.

As they reached the last pile of plates, Peter said quietly, “I got this.”

“It’s fine,” Tony replied, already taking the first plate off the pile. “It’s just a few more.”

Peter wanted to argue, but he took one look at Tony and nodded. They continued to work down the pile, and by the time Peter looked back up at the clock, it was already half past ten. When he looked over at May and Morgan, he was surprised to find that Morgan was still wide awake. She was lying on her back, pointing up at the constellations on one of the patterned blankets. “And that one’s the Big Dipper…” she was saying, and May was nodding thoughtfully along as Morgan tried to find the other constellations on her blanket.

Peter turned back around to slide the last plate into the cupboard when he heard a loud crash behind him, followed by the quietest of swearing. Morgan stopped talking.

“Tony?” Peter turned around and found Tony already kneeling down to pick up the shattered remains of the plate.

“Slipped,” Tony muttered, his fingers brushing over the bits of porcelain. “Didn’t see—”

“It’s fine,” Peter said quickly, and he ripped a few sheets of paper towels before kneeling in front of Tony. “Wait, use this—”

“I can handle this,” Tony said, batting away the paper towels. “Don’t worry about me.”

“I don’t think—” Peter stopped himself short at the first glimmer of blood on Tony’s hand. “Um, that’s not good. Hold on.” He started to get up, but Tony was still picking up the broken pieces of the plate. The blood in Tony’s hand welled from a thin line into a deeper line, and the first drop of blood hit the kitchen floor.

“Mr. Stark,” Peter said, trying to keep the fear out of his voice, “stop— _Tony._ ” He reached over and wrapped a hand around Tony’s wrist. “Stop,” Peter repeated. Pleaded.

Tony lifted his head, and for a moment, he seemed lost. His eyes were glassy, and his face had gone pale in just a matter of minutes. Peter suddenly became aware of how cold Tony’s hand was in his. “Tony?” Peter repeated.

“She’s gone,” was all Tony said, and his voice cracked. “She’s really gone.”

Something in Peter cracked right along with Tony, and all he could say was, “I know, Tony.”

“God,” Tony said, staring down at the mess. “I—” He sucked in a shuddering breath. “I thought—” His shoulders trembled, and then with a paper towel, Peter brushed aside the bits of plate to scoot forward—just in time to catch Tony’s forehead on his shoulder.

And then Peter heard the gentle padding of footsteps come his way, and when he lifted his head, Morgan and May were already standing in front of him. Morgan’s eyes were suddenly too shiny, and then she was crouching next to Tony and Peter.

And then Morgan was resting her forehead on Tony’s shoulder, and then May was crouching behind Peter and rubbing his back as they all sat around a broken plate.

_-one year later-_

“I don’t understand why we always have to read about dogs,” Morgan said, wrinkling her nose as she picked at the edge of her book. “And they’re always sad. I bet the owners are going to shoot the dogs.”

Peter tilted his head at the cover of Morgan’s beaten-up paperback and grimaced. “ _Where the Red Fern Grows_ ,” he read aloud. “I can’t believe they’re still making you guys read that.” He opened up a new tab on his laptop and added, “I’m sure you can switch books, though. Didn’t your school release a whole list of books?” He typed up Morgan’s middle school website, but before he could click forward, he heard Morgan scraping her chair back abruptly.

“Forget it,” she said matter-of-factly. “I’ll just look on SparkNotes.”

“How do you already know about SparkNotes?” Peter asked, his finger still hovering over the touchpad. “Have you used SparkNotes before?” When Morgan gave him a sidelong glance, Peter groaned. “Morgan, you can’t skip on your readings. Not _now_.”

“Why not?” Morgan asked, examining her nails with such a bored expression that Peter didn’t know whether to laugh or groan again. At age eleven, Morgan’s mannerisms and vocabulary had become clear indicators of exactly what kind of people she had been surrounded by since she was a child. The cool look she wore right now was all Pepper, and the casual way she mentioned SparkNotes was all Tony.

A corner of Peter’s lips twitched. “How about we look at the list first,” he said. “If you do, I’ll take you to the library.” When Morgan didn’t reply, Peter added, “And ice cream.”

Morgan lifted her eyes at Peter without moving her head, and again, Peter didn’t know whether to laugh or not. “And the lake,” she said. “We have to swim in the lake.”

“Deal,” Peter said, sticking out his hand.

“Deal,” Morgan repeated, her small hand shaking Peter’s with a hard, determined jerk of her hand. She walked around to Peter’s laptop.

“Okay,” Peter said, clicking to the reading list. “So we’ve got _Where the Red Fern Grows, Bridge to Terabithia_ —skip that one, that’s also sad— _Ender’s Game_ …” He looked down at Morgan’s questioning look. “Sci-fi,” he explained.

“Pass,” Morgan said, shaking her head.

Peter nodded. Ever since Thor took her up to space for her eighth birthday, any science fiction must have felt laughable for Morgan. (Although that didn’t keep Peter from making her watch _Star Wars_ every Christmas.) “ _Schooled_ ,” Peter added. “I’m pretty sure I had to read that when I was in middle school, too.”

“Was it any good?” Morgan asked.

“It wasn’t bad,” Peter replied. “It’s about a hippie kid, I think.”

“And there aren’t any dead dogs?”

“Not that I can remember.”

“Good enough for me,” Morgan said. With that, she slipped off the chair. “So can we go to the lake now?”

Peter closed his laptop. “I thought the deal was that we were going to go to the library.”

“Lake first, _then_ library, and _then_ ice cream,” Morgan said, picking up Peter’s laptop and setting it on the other end of the kitchen table. “If we eat ice cream before going to the lake, we’ll get cramps. And if we go to the lake after we go to the library, we’ll be too tired to do anything.” She tapped her head. “I thought this through.”

Peter grinned. “I can tell,” he said, tapping Morgan’s forehead.

Morgan beamed up at Peter. “I bet I can get my swimsuit faster than you,” she said, and before Peter could respond, Morgan darted from the table. Peter opens his mouth to warn her not to run so fast inside, but before he could, there was a loud “oomph!” as Morgan collided straight into her seemingly half-awake father.

“Morning to you, too,” Tony said, looking down at Morgan’s sheepish grin. “Why the running?”

“Peter and I are gonna swim in the lake,” Morgan replied. “And then he’s gonna take me to the library, and then we’re gonna get ice cream. Do you wanna join?”

Peter pretended he was reaching for his laptop as he felt Tony’s eyes focus on him. “I thought Peter was supposed to be getting his stuff ready at his new place,” he said, and Tony’s voice was light, but Peter didn’t miss the slight edge of bewilderment in his voice.

Peter opened up his laptop, staring at the black screen with more intensity than was probably necessary as Morgan replied, “Peter says that’s a tomorrow problem.” 

“Really.”

Peter heard Tony walk around Morgan. He kept his eyes on the black screen as he saw Tony move towards the coffee machine out of the corner of his eye. Peter was pretty sure Tony was wearing the same clothes that he had been working in the last two nights, and the smell of singed metal and fabric did nothing to rest Peter’s own suspicions of what exactly Tony had been doing last night. But Tony moved as though he hadn’t been doing anything at all—as though he had just slept like everyone else, even though the fact that Tony was searching for espresso proved otherwise. For a moment, the only sound that filled the kitchen was the loud grind of coffee beans in the machine—and then there was the steady drip of coffee into a mug.

Peter lifted his head from his laptop. Morgan was still standing in the hallway, her hands placed expectantly on her hips. Eyes slightly narrowed at Peter. “He _llo_ ,” she said, jerking her head to the hallway.

“Don’t wait up for me,” Peter said, standing up. He closed his laptop. “Didn’t you tell me you were gonna get your swimsuit on first?”

Morgan twisted her lips into a sardonic smile. “Right,” she said, and humming, she whirled around and darted down the hallway.

Peter released a sigh. Scooping his laptop under his arm, he made to leave when Tony called after him.

“You don’t need to keep doing this, you know.”

Peter turned around, but Tony wasn’t looking at him. He was still standing by the coffee machine, even though Peter could tell that the coffee had already been fully poured into the mug. But Peter wasn’t sure if he’d rather have Tony turn around and look at him or stay turned away.

“Do what?” Peter asked, even though he knew what the answer was going to be. He had known the answer for a few weeks now. He had known because whenever Peter came to the house, Tony’s smile only seemed to get wearier. And Peter hated that because he didn’t know _why_ Tony was doing this now, and when Peter had told May, she had only told Peter to give it time. She hadn’t needed to clarify what _it_ was.

“We know you’re busy,” Tony said, swiping the mug up. He still wasn’t looking at Peter, even when he turned around to the kitchen island. “Work year. Moving. Embracing your new twentysomething life. Fresh college graduate life. All that.”

“I don’t mind,” Peter said, and he winced. He hated how that phrase sounded— _I don’t mind_ —as though _this_ was actually something he _could_ mind about. He tried again. “I like being here.” He wished Tony would look at him so he could tell that Peter was sincere. He wished Tony would at least lift his head.

But Tony kept his head bent over his mug, and Peter kept still at the center of the kitchen, his arm still wrapped around his laptop.

“Morgan and I are going to be swimming,” Peter said, even though he knew that Tony already knew. He knew he didn’t even have to ask Tony the next words, because Tony knew them already, too.

“Busy,” Tony replied. Peter watched Tony’s fingers wrap around the mug. Then, “Have fun with Morgan.”

Tony still didn’t look at Peter, even as he left the room.

Peter’s fingers were stiff from holding onto his laptop so hard.


	2. TWO

The cancer had been hard. _Everything_ had been hard in those last few months. The doctor visits that turned into hospital visits that turned into eventual long nights at home when Tony would watch Morgan curl up beside her mother and cry into her shoulder because _this wasn’t fair_ , and even though Pepper was trying not to cry, she smiled all the same for Morgan—and for Tony, even though he had just the mind to join Morgan in screaming that _this wasn’t fair_.

It was as though the universe had decided to laugh in Tony’s face. After the snap, Thanos, getting everyone back, coming back to _life_ , Tony thought that he had finally had the chance to stay on the sidelines. Retired. Sleepy mornings with Pepper and watching Morgan grow. Occasionally getting visits from his friends before they went off to continue with their own hero thing.

And for the first few years, it was exactly like that. Sleepy mornings with Pepper. First days of school with Morgan. Late nights in the garage and, eventually, in one of the Stark-owned labs in Cambridge with Peter after he got into MIT.

Things were good.

Really good.

And then the cancer had hit.

They tried to cover it up for Morgan the best they could until they couldn’t anymore. Tony remembered how Morgan’s eyes had gotten wider and wider, and Tony waited for Morgan to start crying, but she had only slowly walked over to Pepper and curled up into her side. And Pepper had rubbed circles into Morgan’s back when the first tears eventually hit, and then Pepper had looked up at Tony, her lower lip just barely trembling as Morgan’s silent crying turned into sobbing and screaming.

After the funeral, there were lots of visits. Rhodey stayed for a few nights, coaxing Tony to get some sleep and eat something when he couldn’t. Happy drove Morgan to and from school and took her out on bad days. Natasha took charge of the press, diverting any and all soulless reporters from Tony and Morgan. Steve stopped by to tidy up the house or take care of the lawn because he knew how much Tony hated lawn-work. Bruce packed the fridge with enough food to last for months. Thor insisted on bringing Tony and Morgan along for a few joyrides into space, where Morgan would fall asleep looking at nebulas, and Tony would fall asleep to Thor quietly humming Asgardian hymns under his breath. And Peter, just finishing up his senior year, swung by almost every weekend. Tony had tried to stop him from coming at first, but of course, Peter never listened.

Stubborn.

Still stubborn, even with Peter getting ready to move into his new apartment and his research position at Stark Industries. Peter, who Tony specifically knew probably already had enough things on his plate, still sitting at the kitchen island with Morgan every weekend as though nothing had changed at all.

Tony took a sip of his coffee. Set it down on his desk (or _her_ desk. This had been really Pepper’s office). Moved behind the laptop. There were emails already waiting for him, and Tony knew that technically, he didn’t have to look at any of them. He knew that technically, he could leave it all to whatever board was in charge now, but these emails were all in regard to the next CEO. While Pepper had been sick, there had been an interim CEO—some faceless executive who took the position for just a few months until Pepper would get back on her feet.

Only she never did.

Tony flicked through the emails. Meetings. More meetings. Something in Seoul in a few days—potential CEO candidates. Tony skimmed through the list of names quickly: some Osborn fellow, a Smith, a Warner. Almost as soon as Tony processed the word ‘Seoul’, a video call request popped up on his laptop screen. The other said board directors, Tony knew.

“So going to Seoul?” Tony asked by manner of greeting once he accepted the call.

“We hope you weren’t too thrown off by the news,” one of the board members said. Johnson— _Johnson_? Tony was fairly certain it was Johnson. “But there’s some added business in Seoul, and we thought it best to—”

“Kill two birds with one stone,” Tony said, and when the board members all exchanged guilty looks, Tony lifted his hands. “No, I get it.” He rested his hands on his stomach, leaned back in his chair. “Efficiency. That’s all good and fine.” He squinted up at the ceiling. “Just that the exact dates…my kid’s starting middle school just a week afterwards. Should be enough time for her to get back adjusted to the time zones, right?”

When the board members didn’t reply right away, Tony waved his hand. “I’m sure she’ll be more excited about a trip to Korea. On the other side of the pond and all that.” Even though, he knew, ‘other side of the pond’ was hardly impressive when one had seen the other side of the galaxy.

When Tony glanced back at his laptop, relief was blooming across all the board members’ faces, and for a moment, they looked so happy that Tony almost started laughing.

“I’ll have you know, though,” he said, sitting up in his seat, “I don’t appreciate the last-second calls.”

The relief quickly faded from all the board members’ faces, and Johnson— _must be Johnson_ , Tony decided—stammered, “Of course, sir. This won’t happen again.”

“Yeah, I sure hope it does,” Tony said, pretending to take interest in a corner of his fingernail. “I’m still technically retired, you know.”

“We understand,” Johnson replied. “We only ask this of you because of the urgency to replace the interim CEO after—” He broke himself off and looked down at the table. Tony didn’t have to look at his laptop screen to know that the other board members were holding their breaths. He could imagine them all exchanging nervous glances now, but Tony—well, Tony just kept looking at his fingernail.

“Right.” Tony said at last, dropping his hand to his lap. “I’ve got the memo. Got it. Get to Seoul in, what—two, three days’ time? I’ll meet with your candidates, give the green light, and then you lot can go on with your…” He waved a hand. “Board-member-ing. Does that sound about right for everyone?” Not waiting for any responses, Tony waved a hand over his laptop screen and ended the call.

For an agonizing few seconds, Tony became aware of the silence that now filled his room. Even the hum of his laptop seemed quieter than it usually was.

\--

Tony worked through the emails steadily, hating every minute of it. Pepper would always be better at sending emails—always prompt, always professional sounding, always sure of herself. Whenever Tony had to deal with anything even remotely related to paperwork or mundane messages even after he handed the company over to Pepper, Pepper would still stand over Tony’s shoulder and read over his words. “You need to reword that,” she’d say, tapping the screen. “Too casual.”

“So?” Tony would snort, and he’d send the email anyway, and Pepper would roll her eyes, and then Tony would mimic her eye-roll before dragging her in for a kiss, and then Pepper would eventually tell him “okay, okay, calm down and get back to work”.

Tony stopped typing. The screen before him blurred, and then Tony was pressing his face into his hands as he imagined Pepper leaning over his shoulder again, the strands of her hair just barely brushing Tony’s neck. One hand on his shoulder, the other supporting her weight as she leaned against the desk. Quiet laughter, the smell of Pepper’s shampoo.

A quiet knock on the door is what forces Tony to lift his head from his laptop.

“Lunch,” Tony hears Peter say, and Tony quickly wipes at his face just before Peter walks into the room, plate in hand. Sandwich. Apple. A glass of water in the other hand. As Peter set the plate and glass down, he swiped out Tony’s coffee mug. Tony let him.

There was a strange silence between them—one that Tony wasn’t sure if he put up first or just let happen over time. Finally, clearing his throat, he asked, “Anything interesting happen?”

“Morgan and I found some samples of the summer reading list online,” Peter replied, scooting the sandwich closer to Tony. “She decided she wants to read _The Phantom Tollbooth_ instead.”

“Child cursed with boredom who finds a magical tollbooth that transports him across all over a fantasy land?” Tony picked up the apple. Rolled it between his hands. “Wonder why she would have been so interested in it.” He lifted his head to see the smallest quirk of a smile hover over Peter’s lips. And for a moment, things felt just a little less foreign because Tony had seen that small smile for the last six years now, and before the blip, for a whole other year.

They lapsed back into silence before Peter added, “We’re going to go swimming now.”

“Right,” Tony replied.

Peter nodded down at Tony’s laptop. “If you’ve got some time, the offer still stands.” He pocketed his hands and looked out the window. “It’s a nice day out,” he added, and there’s a hopeful lilt in his voice, one that both stings and warms Tony’s chest at the same time. “Could be nice.”

Tony rolled the apple between his hands again. Looked at the laptop as he said, “I’ve got…stuff.”

Tony tried not to picture Peter’s smile fading as he replied, “Oh.”

“Sure it’ll be fun, though,” Tony said, trying to lighten the mood. “Morgan probably wants to suck up the most of the summer she possibly can before school starts.” He looked up at Peter. “Sure you can relate on that level.”

“I guess,” Peter replied, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Maybe.”

“Have fun, then,” Tony said. “Don’t do anything I would do, and—”

“Definitely don’t do what you wouldn’t do,” Peter finished, and again, there was a strange, painful little smile from Peter that made Tony wonder again who had put up the barrier between them first. “Got it.” And with that, Peter turned around and left the room, and Tony tried to ignore the fact that Peter’s shoulders were significantly lower than they had been when he walked in.

Tony dropped his head back against his chair and listened to Peter’s footsteps go down the hallway. Fade into the living room, where Tony knew his footsteps would be muffled by rug. And then all Tony could hear was the distant humming of his laptop again.

“Well,” Tony mumbled, tapping the keyboard without writing anything. He glanced over at the sandwich Peter had left him. Turkey. Cheese. Lettuce and tomato and avocado, because Tony remembered how they had gone on a grocery trip just a few days ago. Morgan had insisted on pushing the cart, although of course, her version of pushing the cart meant shoving the cart forward and hopping onto it. Tony remembered how Morgan would slow herself down and turn around, as though checking Tony and Peter were still there.

And each time she turned around, Tony would give a little wave of reassurance, and then Morgan would turn back around and keep scooting down the produce. Peter had been talking about the avocadoes—which ones to pick, how to know which were ones were just ripe or not ripe enough to buy.

“Just pick the ones that are barely squishy,” Tony had replied. “So we don’t have to wait forever for them to ripen.”

“Wouldn’t want that,” Peter had said, dutifully placing avocadoes in a bag. He had shuffled the avocadoes in the bag and then, after a moment, he had added, “May usually picks the produce whenever we go grocery shopping. I’m going to have to ask her more tips, though, if I’m going to actually start living on my own.”

Tony had turned from Morgan to Peter then. “You’re moving out?” he had asked.

“Figured,” Peter replied, narrowing his eyes at one of the avocadoes. He squeezed it once in his hand and passed it along to Tony. “I think this one is too squishy. What do you think?”

“I’m sure it’s fine,” Tony said, passing the avocado back to Peter. “But you’re moving out?”

“Yeah,” Peter replied, shrugging. “I found a place near Stark Industries. It’s not that bad, to be honest. And I’ve talked Ned into rooming with me.” He gave Tony a sheepish smile. “So any tips on picking decent produce?”

“Make sure nothing’s rotting,” was all Tony had replied, but he didn’t register Peter’s laugh until they were already moving on to the next aisle. And as Tony watched Peter help Morgan choose which cereal to buy for the week, all Tony felt was the sinking sensation in his stomach that Peter Parker was very much entering a new phase in his life which would be filled with independent twenty-something things. Rent. Working nine to five. Dates in bars instead of libraries. (Fine, Tony knew _that_ was a bit of a stretch, because Peter didn’t go to libraries for dates. He went to museums. And adult-sized playgrounds.)

“So we’ve got cereal, fruits, vegetables,” Peter had been saying when Tony re-focused on him. Peter had lifted his head up at Tony, his brows furrowing in concentration. “Do we have eggs?”

“No,” Morgan said before Tony could. “You used them up last night.”

“Are you accusing me? I think that was accusation right there,” Peter had said in mock hurt, and he had looked at Tony with feigned shock. “Did you hear that, Tony? I think Morgan’s trying to blame me for the eggs.”

Morgan had laughed at that, and Tony had tried to remember how to smile, but all he could think of was how Peter was putting everything on hold when he could be focusing on moving out and working and just getting on with…whatever. Future things.

And Tony should have seen this coming. He wasn’t an idiot—

But as Peter mussed a hand in Morgan’s hair, Tony wondered how much more Peter was putting on hold because of _this_. Pepper. Morgan. Tony.

And when Peter looked up and smiled at Tony again, Peter’s smile had faded just the smallest bit. His eyebrows had furrowed, wrinkles appearing on his forehead as he asked, “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” Tony had replied automatically. “Eggs—we need eggs. Can’t do without ‘em.” And he had been the one to push the cart, listening to Peter try to point out to Morgan that _yes_ , he used the last eggs, but only because _he_ was trying to make fried rice, and _fried rice needs eggs_.

And with each word Peter spoke, and each peal of laughter that came out of Morgan, Tony had felt something wound tighter and tighter in his stomach because _ah, yes._ Things were changing again.

Tony picked up the sandwich.

And as Tony alternated between emails and the sandwich, laughter started to drift up from his window. Morgan. And then he heard Peter laughing with her, and Tony paused between his emails. His fingers still frozen over the keyboard, Tony turned his head just the slightest towards the window. He could see Morgan standing waist-deep in the water, splashing water at Peter, who ducked away from the spray.

Peter started saying something, but then he was quickly cut off by another spray from Morgan, who only laughed louder as Peter crashed underneath the water. Peter emerged, and Tony could tell from the way his shoulders shook that Peter was probably laughing just as hard as Morgan.

Then Peter was waving his hands. _Time out_ , and Morgan circled Peter with a sneaky smile on her face—the kind Tony knew always came before she snuck an extra cookie after dinner. Peter’s head swiveled to keep up with Morgan, and even though Tony couldn’t hear him, he just knew that Peter was trying to negotiate with his daughter.

 _Hold on_ , Tony could imagine Peter saying as he lifted his hands. _I said time out._

But then Morgan spat lake water at Peter’s back as though she were a water fountain, and Tony cringed along with Peter as he started to shout.

“ _Morgan!_ ” Tony heard Peter this time, and then there was more laughter and, “I’m not playing nice anymore!” With that, Peter scooped Morgan up and held her above him in the air. Morgan giggled and squirmed in Peter’s grip until he dropped her into the water. A moment later, Morgan’s head resurfaced from the lake, and she kicked up a storm at Peter’s face.

Peter instantly lifted his arms to protect himself, but Tony knew that there would be nothing to save him from Morgan’s revenge.

And when Morgan finally tired out, she flopped over on her back and floated with her arms and legs spread out starfish-style, and eventually, Peter joined her so that their fingertips were just barely brushing against each other in the water.

Tony turned back around to his laptop. _Focus_.

Tony only wrote a few more emails before his attention shifted to the window again. Morgan was dragging herself out of the lake, squeezing the water out of her hair as she came closer and closer to the grass. Eventually, she flopped down on the grass and turned around as Peter stumbled out of the water after her. Morgan tossed a towel at Peter, only he fell right back into the water to catch it before it fell in the water.

And despite himself and despite everything, Tony felt a smile tug at his lips as Peter clutched the towel to his chest in extra assurance to keep himself from falling into the water again.

But then Peter was clambering out of the water, rubbing the towel over himself, and then Peter’s head was lifting up to Tony’s window, but Tony was already looking away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos are appreciated!! (In other words, I’m really hoping that I’m not just writing this for self-gratification yIKE—)


	3. THREE

Peter sighed as the hot water ran over his freezing body. The lake water had been _cold_ , and even though Morgan and he had been in the water long enough to adjust to the temperatures, their senses had come rushing in with an icy vengeance the moment they stepped out of the lake. And now, Peter didn’t want to get out of the hot water ever.

But then again, Peter had promised Morgan a trip to the library (and ice cream afterwards), so he forced the water off. He wrapped a towel around his waist and, running his hands through his hair, Peter walked into his room to find his clothes.

Peter was only tugging on his pants when there was a knock on the door. Grabbing his shirt, Peter called over his shoulder, “Come in!”

Probably Morgan, Peter reasoned as he twisted his shirt the right way. Probably wondering what was taking so long.

Peter pulled his shirt over his head just as he heard the door open, but when he turned around, he found that it was Tony, not Morgan already walking into the bedroom. “So moving,” Tony said by means of introduction. “How’s that going so far?”

Peter brushed a flop of still-wet hair from his face. “It’s going,” he replied. “Ned’s got his stuff already in. He’s just waiting for me to do my part now.”

Tony paused by Peter’s bed. “He’s already moved in?”

Peter lifted a shoulder. “He had some free time on his hands,” he replied, and then he suddenly wished he hadn’t said that, because it wasn’t that Peter _didn’t_ have free time on his hands—he just spent most of it here, in the lake house, but that wasn’t _bad_ , and it wasn’t because Peter didn’t _want_ to—

“And Ned also lives closer by,” Peter added quickly. “So it’s easier for him.” He scuffed his foot against the carpeting. “Moving’s a slow process,” Peter said. “I’m just taking my time.” He wished Tony would actually look at him, but Tony was looking at the calendar hanging above Peter’s desk. Peter hadn’t changed the calendar since August last year, when Pepper died. He kept forgetting to flip over the calendar.

“Taking your time, huh.” There was no questioning lilt in Tony’s voice.

“Yeah,” Peter replied. “Trying to ease my way out, you know? So that it’s not just like…” He shrugged his shoulders. “So I don’t give anyone—me, I mean— _myself_ whiplash.” Peter was aware of his shoulders bunching up higher and higher as he added faster now, “I’m going to move out of May’s place tomorrow, probably. I was only taking so long because easing out—” He was repeating himself. He knew he was repeating himself, and he knew Tony knew he was repeating himself, because Tony turned from the calendar, and Peter’s voice died in his throat.

“Easing out,” Tony said. He flipped over the calendar page. “Translation: easing out from _this_?”

Peter dropped his shoulders. “Tony,” he said quietly. “That’s not—”

“But it is, isn’t it?” Tony asked, his voice just the slightest louder than it had been from a moment before. He flipped over another month on the calendar. “You’ve got your life, Parker, so—”

“Moving just takes a long time,” Peter interrupted, something stinging in his chest at _Parker._ That wasn’t normal. Not anymore. Tony didn’t call him that. And now, Peter wanted to take Tony’s hand away from the calendar, because now he was just flipping through the months at an aggravatingly quick pace. But he just watched Tony instead. “And I don’t just want to up and vanish without warning Morgan or you—I mean, I thought that this would be helpful for you guys—”

“I don’t need you to babysit me!”

Peter stopped short. A silence spread between Tony and himself, and then Tony finally lifted his face from the calendar.

But he still wasn’t looking at Peter.

“I’m sorry,” Tony said at last. “That came out wrong.”

Peter let out a shaky breath. “It’s okay,” he said in a small voice. “I get it.”

“No, it’s not—” Tony groaned, pushing a hand up to his face. “Why can’t you just—” Tony dropped his hand from his face, but Peter never got the chance to hear what Tony wanted him to do, because then there was another knock on the door.

“Peter?” Morgan’s voice came through the door. “Are you ready yet?”

Peter looked at Tony, but he just waved his hand at the door. “Don’t want to keep her waiting,” he said.

Peter wished he could find the right words to say or hear what Tony actually had to say, but he only nodded. He walked to the door and flinging it open, gave Morgan the brightest smile he could muster. “Let’s go,” he told Morgan.

\--

“So…what’re you and Daddy fighting about?”

Peter looked down at Morgan from his ice cream. Chocolate for him, peppermint stick for her. “Fighting?” he repeated. “We weren’t fighting about anything.”

“You’re not good at lying,” Morgan replied matter-of-factly.

“What do you mean, I’m lying?”

“Your voice does a funny thing when you lie,” Morgan replied, taking a lick of her ice cream cone. “And so do your eyebrows.” When Peter just looked at her, Morgan shrugged. “Don’t worry,” she said. “Daddy does something similar too. He talks funny when he’s lying.”

“Yeah? Funny how?” Peter asked, and despite everything, he still felt the little impulse to smile because he knew exactly what Morgan was talking about.

“He starts talking about everything at once,” Morgan replied. She looked up at Peter. “So what were you two fighting about?”

When Peter didn’t respond, Morgan asked, “Is it about the moving thing?”

“No,” Peter replied instinctively.

“Then what is it about?”

“Look,” Peter said, stopping in his tracks. He turned and, taking a breath, turned to Morgan. “There’s nothing going on with us. Everything’s fine.”

Morgan only took another lick from her ice cream before replying, “So Dad’s upset about you not getting things packed, right?” She blinked innocently up at Peter. “That’s what it sounded like this morning.”

Peter groaned, letting his head fall back. “He just wants me to not procrastinate, that’s all,” he replied.

“Why’re you moving anyways?” Morgan asked, and she resumed walking. Peter only let her walk for a few more seconds before catching up to her. “Why can’t you just stay with May?”

“I’ve got a job now,” Peter replied. “And the pay isn’t terrible. I can’t live with May forever.”

Morgan furrowed her brow. “Why not?”

“Because I’m an adult now,” Peter said. “Doing adult things.” In actuality, May had asked Peter the same question Morgan was asking him now. (“Why the rush?” May had asked. “It’s always been the two of us anyway.” But Peter had reassured May that he would literally just be a short bus or subway ride away, so it wasn’t as though Peter would stop seeing May entirely.)

“Huh.” Morgan narrowed her eyes at a bit of ice cream dripping down the side of her cone. “So then why were you and Daddy fighting?”

“We weren’t—” Peter pinched the bridge of his nose. “Morgan,” he said, exasperated, “we weren’t _fighting_. He’s just…” Peter remembered the way Tony had said “Parker”, the quick flip-flip-flip of calendar months at his desk. “Stressed. I don’t know.”

“But why would he be stressed?” Morgan asked.

“I don’t _know_ ,” Peter said, scuffing his shoe against the sidewalk. “It’s just—” He shook his head. “Moving’s stressful for everyone. Don’t worry about it, Morgan.”

“But you’re the one moving,” Morgan replied. Licking around her ice cream, she asked, “Are _you_ stressed?”

Peter thought about the way Tony had looked at him before. Or at the way Tony had so deliberately _not_ looked at him before. _Parker_ , he had said.

“No,” Peter replied. “Definitely not.”

Morgan looked up at Peter. She didn’t say anything at first, and Peter was starting to hope that she wouldn’t say anything until at last, she said, “I don’t know why you and Daddy are fighting, but can you fix it? Please?”

“Morgan—”

“Promise?” Morgan’s voice had gone small.

And something kicked at Peter’s chest at the sudden softness in Morgan’s voice.

“Yeah,” Peter replied, swallowing hard. “I promise.”

\--

“I don’t like the idea of subtraction soup,” Morgan declared, closing _The Phantom Tollbooth_ with a sniff. “That sounds awful.”

“It would be,” Peter said, lifting his head up from the couch. He had sent back some text messages to Ned and May as Morgan read aloud from her perch next to Peter. All of the messages had been about the moving tomorrow—Ned couldn’t help because he had a family function ( _or family flexing function_ , Ned had written), but May had said that she was going to stay for most of the moving process ( _excited and sad!!!! Sad for me, excited for you!!!_ , she had texted, followed by a series of heart emojis). MJ had texted him, too, telling him that she would help if she hadn’t been stuck in Cambridge to look at her own future housing prospects. _I’m never living on campus again_ , MJ had texted, and Peter could almost hear the glee in her voice through the screen. Peter was happy for her—MJ had gotten into Harvard Law (unsurprisingly), though she promised she would come back to New York before officially starting the fall semester.

And texting MJ had been nice. Their relationship had lasted through the majority of their college years— _college years_ , Peter thought with a snort, as though it hadn’t literally been a few months ago he had graduated. But Peter and MJ had kept dating through junior year, and then they both broke it off. (“But we’re still friends,” MJ had said after they had come to the conclusion. “Because your dumb ass will always need me.” And Peter had agreed, because he didn’t want to think of a life with MJ completely gone.)

“Speaking of subtraction soup,” Morgan said suddenly, snapping Peter out of his reverie, “I’m hungry.”

Peter looked down at his phone. Almost seven. Of course Morgan would be hungry. And, as Peter swung his legs over the couch, his stomach growled a little, too. “Right,” Peter said, stretching his arms. “What’re we feeling for dinner? Pizza?”

Morgan groaned. “No more pizza,” she said, clutching her stomach.

“That’s fair,” Peter replied, thinking of the mounds of pizza boxes probably collected over the last few weekends. “Chinese? Thai?”

“Takeout takes too long,” Morgan complained, resting her head against the couch cushions. “They always get lost here.”

“Also fair,” Peter replied. He had, on multiple occasions, just had to jog out to the takeout people themselves after spending ten minutes on the phone giving what he hoped were good directions (they never were). He glanced over to the kitchen. “I could…make something…?”

Morgan lifted her head from the cushion. “You know how to cook?” she asked.

“A little bit,” Peter admitted. “Pasta. How about pasta?”

“Better than pizza,” Morgan said, hopping off the couch. “Can I help?”

“Duh,” Peter said, grinning. He walked over to the kitchen and started pulling out pots as Morgan headed for the pantry. A minute later, Morgan had pulled up a chair and was standing over the stove, dumping dry spaghetti into the pot of boiling water. “Careful,” Peter said as he stirred around the spaghetti. “Don’t want you to get any hot water.”

“I’m _careful_ ,” Morgan insisted, and she jumped down from the chair. “Can we use tomato sauce? The alfredo sauce smells gross.”

“Sure,” Peter replied, turning up the heat for the second stovetop. Soon enough, the smell of tomatoes and crushed basil joined the smell of the cooking spaghetti. “Do you think the pasta’s done?” Peter asked over his shoulder, and out of the corner of his eye, he watched Morgan hover over the pot.

“It _looks_ done,” she said uncertainly.

“Here,” Peter said, grabbing a pair of tongs. He picked up two strands of spaghetti and handed one strand over to Morgan. “There’s a test.” Without warning, he flung the strand of spaghetti at the wall, and when it didn’t fall off right away, he nodded to himself. “Looks ready.”

“You just throw it?” Morgan asked incredulously.

“Yeah,” Peter said, taking the pasta off the heat. “Try it.”

Morgan narrowed her eyes at the wall and then, she asked in an odd voice, “Does it work on _anything_?”

“Not anything,” Peter said. “It doesn’t work with skin, if that’s what you’re about to ask, so don’t even try it.”

Morgan’s shoulders slumped in disappointment. And then, a moment later, she asked, “How about the ceiling?”

Peter paused, wondering if he should bother arguing. Well, the pasta was probably going to fall off on its own, anyways. “Sure,” he said, dumping the cooked pasta into a colander. He heard a faint _splat_ , and when Peter looked up again, Morgan’s strand of spaghetti was, sure enough, stuck to the ceiling.

“Huh,” Morgan said, jumping down from her chair. “Cool.”

“I’d stick to the wall next time, though,” Peter said, walking over to where his own strand of spaghetti was still stuck to the surface.

“Boring,” Morgan sang. “Is the pasta almost done?”

“Just get the plates,” Peter replied, and Morgan carried her chair to where the cupboards holding the plates were. After plating pasta on each of the plates, Peter said, “Do you mind setting the table? I’ll go get your dad.”

“Okay,” Morgan said. Then, lifting her head up from the plates, she added, “And things will be okay?” For that moment, Morgan’s voice was so uncertain and yet so hopeful that Peter felt his heart ache.

“Of course,” Peter said, reaching over to tousle Morgan’s hair. She squirmed but laughed under Peter’s hand and when she looked up at him, Peter smiled. “Be right back,” he said, and he left the kitchen.

The house got darker the closer Peter got to the office. The hallway lights hadn’t been turned on, and when Peter reached the door, there wasn’t any light coming from underneath there, either. Still, Peter knocked on the door, but the moment his knuckles came into contact with the surface, the door creaked open.

“Tony?” Peter whispered, ducking his head into the room. The office was dark, but the window blinds were turned up enough for Peter to make out Tony slumped over his desk, his head resting in his arms. “Tony?” Peter repeated, and he crept forward.

When Peter reached Tony’s side, he found the laptop still running. The coffee mug lay long abandoned. Peter closed the laptop down and pushed it aside. “Tony,” Peter said again, and after a moment of hesitation, he rested a hand on Tony’s shoulder and shook it as lightly as he could. “Morgan and I made dinner.”

Tony stirred under Peter’s hand, and Peter quickly withdrew as Tony lifted his head.

“You fell asleep, I guess,” Peter said as Tony looked around, disoriented. “It’s a little past seven now.”

Tony focused on Peter. “Ah,” he only said. He looked at his closed laptop and, when he looked back, he asked, “Did you…?”

“I didn’t see anything,” Peter replied. “I just closed it.” He tilted his head at the door. “Morgan and I made pasta. I think she’s done setting the table now.” Peter wondered if he should say more, and he wondered if Tony was going to say anything, but then Peter felt his own feet moving away towards the door.

But he heard Tony’s feet moving after him, and when Peter reached the kitchen, Morgan’s face brightened.

“Daddy!” she said, running up from her chair. Grabbing one of Tony’s hands, she said, “Peter and I made dinner, and he let me throw spaghetti on the ceiling!”

“We took it down,” Peter said quickly, walking over to the table.

“Sadly,” Morgan added. She tugged Tony towards the table, and they all sat down together.

Dinner was quiet—or mostly quiet. Morgan chirped on about their day, looking between Peter and Tony with the bright hopefulness that only she could have. And Peter, when Morgan took a breath, would add on to the story bit by bit—“yeah, that librarian knew me when I was a kid” and “and then you got ice cream all over your shirt” and “next time, we’re throwing spaghetti at the _wall_ ”. And each time Peter added on anything, Peter thought he saw just the barest trace of _something_ stir in Tony’s face, but whenever Peter would make direct eye contact with him, Tony would be busy nodding at whatever Morgan had next said.

Finally, when dinner was over, Morgan declared, “I want a movie night.”

“You sure you’re not too tired?” Peter asked, moving the dishes into the sink. He turned on the faucet, but before he could pick up even the first plate, Tony took it from him.

“I’ve got it,” Tony said, not meeting Peter’s eyes.

“Not tired at all,” Morgan was saying, moving into the living room. “Can we watch _Star Wars_?”

“I thought you said _Star Wars_ was boring the last time we watched it,” Peter said, collecting the place mats.

“I changed my mind,” Morgan said loftily. Out of the corner of his eye, Peter saw Morgan already slumping back in the couch, remote in hand. “Can you guys hurry up?” she called, lifting her head over the cushions.

Peter looked over at Tony, who was drying the last of the dishes. He tried for a smile. “You up for a movie night?” For a moment, Peter expected Tony to say no, retreat back into his office. But Tony only wiped up the rest of the kitchen counter and shrugged.

“It’s _Star Wars_ , isn’t it?” Tony asked neutrally. He hung the dishtowel over its respective hook and nodded into the living room. “Can’t keep the little miss waiting.” He paused, as though to say something more, but then he just nodded again.

“Okay,” Peter said, and they walked into the living room with Peter matching Tony pace for pace. For a moment, just the unison in their steps seemed to give the odd air of normalcy between the two, and Peter wished he could somehow cling to that normalcy, if not just for this second.

“Alright,” Tony said, sliding onto the couch. “Which one we watching?”

“ _Empire Strikes Back_ ,” Morgan replied, picking up the remote. “Because it’s the best one.” She splayed herself on the rug, propping up her chin by the hands as the title started to roll up on the screen.

Peter slid himself down on the other side of the couch, just so that there was a decent amount of space between Tony and himself in case Morgan changed her mind and would switch to the couch from the floor. But as the movie played, Morgan remained on the floor, her feet lazily swinging up and down.

And all throughout the movie, Peter found himself occasionally glancing at Tony, but every time he let his eyes linger a little too long, Tony would start to turn his head, and Peter would look quickly back at the screen. He couldn’t focus on the actual film—which was a first, since Peter would have gladly loved getting lost with Luke and Leia and Han Solo, but there were too many things left unsaid that Peter wished he could say now.

But the rest of the movie was watched in silence, and eventually, Morgan stopped kicking her legs. Peter was almost certain she had fallen asleep when Tony spoke first.

“I’m sorry about earlier.”

Peter started. He looked over at Tony, and this time, Tony was actually looking back at him. “You don’t have to—”

“No, I do.” Tony pressed his lips together and, looking briefly down at Morgan, he said, “I haven’t been…things haven’t been…” He made a halfhearted gesture with his hand. “Normal. Right. Right? That’s what I’m trying to say. Things haven’t been _right_ , and that’s on me.”

“Tony…”

“Just let me finish,” Tony said. Pleaded. And that was where Peter stopped. “I wasn’t fair. I know that. Just…” He made that same halfhearted gesture with his hands. “Brain short-circuited. Don’t like the idea of change. Or being taken care of. Both. Don’t like both.” He paused. “Did that make sense?”

“A little?” When Tony started to groan, Peter hurriedly continued with, “But that’s all I need. And it…” He turned himself to Tony. “It works. Works better than anything else.”

“Going to have to improve on that,” Tony said with a weak smile, but it was a smile that Peter was willing to take.

“We can do that later,” Peter replied. And he smiled back, and he decided to take that as a small step forward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The spring semester has officially started for me, so ya girl is juggling college + readings while writing this story. (But don't worry, I'm not planning to ghost ya'll because I'm in the middle of writing chapter 13 right now.) 
> 
> That being said, kudos/comments are literally the lifeblood of this already tired college student. <3


	4. FOUR

By the time the movie ended, both Peter and Morgan had fallen completely asleep.

Tony clicked off the television and, leaning down, gently shook Morgan awake. His daughter blinked owlishly up at him for a minute and then, registering that it was indeed Tony, she mumbled, “Is it already done?”

“You slept right through it,” Tony replied, smiling. He tugged Morgan up to her feet. “Come on, little miss. Let’s get you into bed.” Morgan nodded sleepily and, taking Tony’s hand, they drifted into Morgan’s bedroom. Morgan slid under her covers and as Tony pressed a kiss to her forehead, she mumbled, “Daddy?”

“Yeah?”

Morgan buried her cheek deeper into her pillow. “Don’t be mad at Peter, ‘kay?” she asked, and her voice was so soft with both sleep and wanting that it made Tony pause. “I don’t like it when you guys get sad.” Her eyes fluttering closed, Morgan continued to murmur, “He gets really sad, and then you get really sad, and then I get sad…” And Tony didn’t get to figure out what Morgan was going to say next, because then Morgan’s whole body was rising and falling in the way that let Tony know that his daughter had fallen completely asleep.

Tony’s heart twitched at that. He hadn’t thought Morgan had caught onto anything. But then again…he knew that Morgan was more perceptive than she let on. She was like Pepper in that way. Quiet at first, but sharp. Eyes that took in everything, a brain that worked out every social situation. Tony was better with machines. He wasn’t as good as reading a room—or, when he did read a room, he only knew to be blunt about his own observations. But that had somehow stopped with Peter.

For now.

And Morgan had noticed.

Tony rested a hand on Morgan’s head. He smoothed out her hair and felt another twinge of guilt. Peter had been there for Morgan through so much already. He had been there for Morgan even before Pepper had died, and when the news first hit, Peter suddenly turned into Morgan’s best friend. Confidante.

“Sorry,” Tony whispered. He smoothed out Morgan’s hair again and, flicking off the light, he closed the door to Morgan’s bedroom. He made his way back to the living room, where Peter was still sleeping.

His long legs were splayed off the couch, and Peter’s head rested on one of the cushions. His lips were slightly parted, his face tinged pink with sleep. Peter shivered once, and he drew himself in closer. A part of his shirt rode up against the couch, revealing a sliver of skin. Tony paused. He should probably lower the air conditioning in this place.

Tony cleared his throat and reached over to Peter’s shoulder. He shook it twice, saying quietly, “Hey. Movie’s over.”

Peter’s eyes slowly opened and, when he finally focused on Tony, he only mumbled, “Wanna sleep.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Tony said, and he almost smiled because he knew that sleepy voice after years of listening to it during long nights in the lab or in the garage or over a phone call. “But you’ve got a nice bed to sleep in. Think that sounds better, don’t you?”

“Mm,” Peter hummed.

“C’mon,” Tony said, hoisting one of Peter’s arms around his shoulders. “Up and at ‘em.” He heaved to his feet, and Peter came rising up against Tony. He grunted a little as Peter’s head crashed against the side of Tony’s neck, but then Peter’s head nestled to a semi-comfortable position on Tony’s shoulder. “Alright,” Tony said, more to himself than to Peter. “It’s gonna be one of those nights.”

With that, he started for the hallway towards Peter’s room. All the while, Peter’s head leaned into Tony’s shoulder. Peter’s face was warm—not a fever-warm, but a familiar-warm. The kind of warmth that made something in Tony relax, despite everything. Tony could smell Peter’s shampoo, too. Clean, fresh. Vague notes of citrus. 

Peter’s head lolled forward, his face catching on the very edge of Tony’s shoulder. The picture may have been comical if it weren’t for the fact that Peter looked so tired. Even in the dim lighting of the halls, Tony could make out the dark half-moons underneath Peter’s eyes. He hadn’t been sleeping as nearly as he used to.

Maybe tonight would change that.

“Here we go,” Tony said quietly, even though he knew Peter wouldn’t hear him. He pushed open Peter’s door and led Peter to his bed. Peter nestled into his blankets and, this time, his eyes opened again, though they were still glazed over with sleep.

“Hey,” Peter mumbled. Peter’s hand reached forward, catching Tony by the hem of his shirt. Tony stopped short, looking down at Peter’s fingers getting tangled in the fabric. Peter’s eyes were already closing, though, as he mumbled, “Just wanted to make sure you’re okay.” His fingers slackened slightly, but his hand still remained over Tony’s shirt. “Just wanted to…help.” Peter’s eyes fully closed, and his hand slowly went limp.

Tony let out a breath. He gently disentangled Peter’s hand from his shirt and carefully rested it against Peter’s side. Peter didn’t even stir. His chest rose and fell so deeply, so evenly, that Tony couldn’t help but wonder how he could fall asleep so fast—or if this was the first time he was falling asleep this fast in a long while.

Then Peter rolled over slightly to his side, towards Tony. His curls fell forward, just barely brushing past his eyes. And, before Tony could stop himself, he reached forward to push Peter’s curls back. His hair was soft. A little unruly. Tony’s fingers could get caught in those curls if he wasn’t being careful. The movement was meant to be quick, simple to just keep the hair from falling in Peter’s eyes, but then, as Tony started to lower his hand, Peter’s eyes opened again.

For a second, neither of them spoke.

Then, Tony said, “You gotta keep your hair out of your face.” He paused. “Sorry,” he said, but he wasn’t just talking about the hair now.

Peter only nodded, a sleepy smile forming over his lips. “’s fine,” he mumbled. “’s warm.” His eyes drifted closed and, so quietly that Tony could barely hear it, Peter whispered, “’night, Tony.”

Tony let his hand slowly fall back to his side. “Good night, Peter,” he said quietly, and still feeling Peter at his fingertips, he left.

And once Tony slid under his own sheets, he lifted his own hand to his face, processing that just a minute ago, they had been pushing up Peter’s curls. He had done it before, when Peter had first come out of the portal all those years ago. Tony distinctly remembered pushing his hand into Peter’s curls, suddenly feeling his warmth—his _presence_ after missing it for so long. There was a familiarity with Peter. There had _always_ been this familiarity with Peter, the kind of familiarity that only built after Germany, and then after the Vulture, when Peter was suddenly coming to the Compound almost every weekend. And then after Thanos—after _everything_ , Peter had still come. Not to work at the Compound now, but to work by the lake house. Look after Morgan when Tony took Pepper out on date nights. Nights in the garage. Peter nodding off at the workbench, Peter laughing while recording Tony from his phone, Peter smearing machine oil on his cheeks by accident, Peter being Peter. How many times had Tony done the same thing back then, rubbing his hand through Peter’s hair while wearing a ridiculous grin on his own face?

Things had been so familiar.

Tony dropped his hand on his stomach and stared up at the ceiling. He turned off the lights, but he still couldn’t sleep. Something inside him ached. Not in his chest or his arms or his wrists like they normally would, but everywhere. Nowhere. A dull, mind-numbing ache that forced Tony to sit up straight in bed and wonder when it had all gone wrong.

The easy answer was Pepper.

Pepper gone. A different hole suddenly left behind.

The difficult answer was the aftermath.

Peter suddenly seeing Tony like this. _This_ , whatever this was. Grieving? Tony thought of grieving as wearing black clothes and going to church and crying at the drop of the hat. When his parents died, he had come already half-drunk to the funeral. When people murmured their sympathies, Tony had gone through them with the easy smile of one already numbed by alcohol.

At Pepper’s funeral, there hadn’t been any numbing agents. And he knew that because Rhodey had been quietly taking away the alcohol for the duration of the funeral and for the days following. Not that he really needed to—Tony wasn’t an idiot. Not with Morgan around. But still, he knew why Rhodey did it.

There hadn’t been alcohol for Tony afterwards, but there had been something else that numbed him instead. He moved like one of those old automatons for days. Functional. Living on basic orders he set for himself. (Get out of bed. Give Morgan breakfast. Take Morgan to school. Work. Bring Morgan back from school. Get dinner. Bedtime.)

It continued like that for a while, and then Peter suddenly started to stay for longer over the weekends. He no longer came Saturday morning. He came Friday afternoons by taking the bus from Cambridge all the way to New York. He would come Friday afternoon and stay until Sunday evening, and when Tony had first asked Peter about school, he had only waved a hand and said that “seniors don’t need to do that much, anyways”.

How many times, Tony wondered, did Peter actually see the aftermath. If Peter saw it at all. If Peter wondered to himself at all.

Moving would be a good thing for him.

Tony came to that conclusion before finally falling asleep.

\--

Tony was the first one awake in the house.

He checked his emails—he would be going to Seoul in two days—and skimmed through the list of school supplies Morgan would need for sixth grade. Tony knew that he hadn’t used much except for a pencil and a notebook during most of his classes, but if Morgan wanted the colored pencils and markers and highlighters and sticky notes that the school list apparently required, then she would get them. Tony knew that the world was going crazy for Asian stationery, anyways. Morgan would probably love them, Tony decided. They’d pick some up in Seoul.

Tony put away his phone and headed into the living room. The coffee table still held the assortment of half-empty cups of water and half-empty bowls of popcorn from last night, and the couch pillow Morgan had used was still on the rug. Tony set the pillow back on the couch and grabbed the cups. He was in the middle of migrating the rest of the bowls, too, when Peter padded into the room.

“Morning,” Peter said, rubbing a hand into his already bed-mussed hair. He yawned and slid into one of the stools at the kitchen island.

“Sleep well?” Tony asked, sliding the bowls onto the counter by the sink.

Peter murmured an affirmative sound, and Tony wondered if Peter remembered anything of last night. But before he could gage in Peter’s full memory, Morgan walked into the room, rubbing one of her eyes with a fist.

“Good morning,” she said, hopping onto the stool net to Peter.

“Morning,” Tony replied. “Breakfast?”

“Waffles,” Morgan prompted. “Eggo.”

“You know,” Tony said, opening the freezer, “we could always make waffles.”

“We’ve been watching _Stranger Things_ ,” Peter admitted. “So now Morgan’s developed a slight obsession with frozen waffles.”

Tony looked over at Morgan, who smiled expectantly. “Isn’t there swearing?”

“Peter mutes all the swearing,” Morgan replied innocently, but judging by the slight pink in Peter’s face, Tony guessed otherwise.

“Uh-huh,” Tony deadpanned, popping the waffles into the toaster oven. “What about you, Peter? Frozen waffles too?”

“Nah,” Peter said quickly, sliding off the stool. “I can get my own breakfast. Thanks, though.” As Tony opened his mouth to argue, Peter smiled. “Really. I got it,” he said, and he walked past Tony to open one of the cupboards. As Peter rattled cereal into a bowl, Tony opened the fridge and handed him the milk gallon.

“Thanks,” Peter said, and for a second, the only sounds in the kitchen was the steady pour of milk on cereal and the faint ticking of the toaster oven.

“What’re you having?” Morgan asked, leaning towards Tony from her spot at the island.

In truth, Tony wasn’t too hungry. But looking at Peter, who was carefully examining the other bowls in the cupboard, Tony had the feeling that saying so aloud wouldn’t be the best option. “What the hell,” he muttered under his breath, soft enough for only himself (and Peter, probably) to hear. “Hand over the cereal,” he said, louder.

Tony tried to ignore the relief on Peter’s face as he passed over a bowl and the cereal box. After pouring in the cereal, the toaster oven went off. Tony slid the waffles onto a plate and passed it to Morgan.

Morgan, in return, got off the kitchen stool and searched for utensils. She dutifully handed Peter and Tony spoons, while she got a fork and knife for herself. She swiped the syrup out of the refrigerator and, returning to her seat, asked, “So why’re you up so early, Daddy?”

“I’m not up early,” Tony replied, nodding to the kitchen clock. “You two just got up late.”

Peter walked around the kitchen island and, sitting down at a stool, told Morgan, “Enjoy it while it lasts. Because then school’s gonna start and—”

“Ssh,” Morgan hissed, drowning her waffles with syrup. “Leave me and my waffles alone.”

Peter grinned, and he looked up at Tony. His smile softened as Tony sat across from him, but it didn’t fade. That gave Tony more strength. He remembered the smile Peter had given him last night while watching the movie, the sleepy smile Peter had given him so late last night.

“So,” Tony said, clearing his throat. He dunked his spoon into the cereal bowl halfheartedly. “I’ve been thinking.”

At that, both Peter and Morgan paused.

Tony cleared his throat again. Already-soggy Cheerios floated around his bowl. “I owe you both an explanation,” he said at last. He looked up. Morgan’s face was one of total calm, her dark eyes watching Tony carefully. Peter, however, regarded Tony with the quiet look of someone who already knew what was to come.

 _So he_ did _remember_ , Tony thought.

But he went on, because when Tony looked back at Morgan, he could only remember how sad and tired she had sounded last night.

“I’m not going to pretend things have been…perfect,” Tony decided to say. “Far from it.” He set both of his hands on the island, lifted them up in a halfhearted gesture. “Just wanted to say that I’m working on it.”

“You mean _we’re_ working on it,” Peter said quietly.

“Yeah,” Morgan agreed quickly. She looked between Tony and Peter, and Tony found that there was already a hopeful look spreading across her face, and Tony couldn’t help but wonder how long Morgan had been worried about them.

So Tony gave Morgan a small, reassuring smile. Things would have to be better. Things _will_ be better, he silently promised to himself. To Morgan. To Peter. Peter, who was smiling again—the soft, gentle smile that appeared like the sun rising over the lake.

When Tony met Peter’s smile, he added, “Turns out I hate total isolation.” He paused. “And change. Unprepared change.” He cleared his throat again. “So, then.” He nodded at Peter. “You need help with moving stuff?”

\--

“You don’t have to do this, you know,” Peter said as he leaned against one of the porch’s posts. He was wearing the same clothes he had been wearing yesterday (jeans. Slightly rumpled white shirt), but Peter looked more awake than Tony had seen him in a long time. “I know that you’re probably busy, and I don’t want to distract Morgan from…” His voice drifted as Tony lifted his car keys.

“I’ve already got my emails arranged,” Tony said. “And you know Morgan only does her work when she feels like it.” He glanced through the screen door. Morgan had run to her room to change out of her pajamas, which meant just another thirty seconds or so. “And,” Tony added, still observing the screen door, “I want to help. Big next step, moving out. Getting your own place. Or renting your own place. Still big.” He turned to Peter. “Seems like the kind of thing that needs extra hands.”

There was a silence of two, three heartbeats before Peter said quietly, “Thanks.”

And then, “I’m still coming around on the weekends, though.”

Tony felt a corner of his lips twitch. “Morgan would kill you if you didn’t.”

“Just Morgan?” Peter asked lightly.

Tony huffed out a small laugh, and then the door swung open.

“C’mon, slowpokes!” Morgan cried, bounding through the door. “I call shotgun!”

“No,” Peter and Tony said in unison.

And as Morgan groaned something about the unfairness of not letting an eleven-year old ride shotgun (“when I’ve literally been in a _spaceship_ ”), Tony felt something familiar settle back in his chest. He watched Peter take down the porch first, his shoulders silently trembling in laughter as Morgan threw herself into the back seat.

Peter opened the door to the shotgun seat, and then he lifted his head up at Tony. “Coming?” he asked.

“Slowpoke!” Morgan droned from the backseat.

And then Peter was laughing again, and Tony remembered how just yesterday—had it really been just yesterday?—he had had been watching Peter laugh that same laugh only from upstairs in his office. And how yesterday, Tony had watched that laugh feeling like a ghost, and now, he was watching Peter laugh feeling more and more solid.

“Yeah, yeah,” Tony heard himself saying. “Let’s go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, comments/kudos would be so incredibly appreciated!


	5. FIVE

“Huh,” Tony said, stepping into the bedroom behind Peter. “This takes me back.”

“Takes _you_ back?” Peter snorted, kicking a box aside.

“Well, to be fair,” Tony said, observing the clutter of Peter’s desk, “the last time I was here, you were in…what, freshman year of college?”

Peter felt himself smile. “Yeah,” he said. “I was—”

“Down with the flu,” Tony remembered.

“I almost puked on you.”

“Good thing we had the trash can nearby.”

“We already packed the trash can, in case you’re looking for it now,” Peter said, and he dumped some of his books into one of the many cardboard boxes in the room. He stuffed in some notebooks, a photograph of May and Peter at the beach, and the little paper frogs that MJ had made him when they graduated.

“Clothes?” Tony asked, nodding to the dresser.

“Oh, yeah,” Peter replied, feeling heat crawl up his neck. “Um, I got that part,” he added quickly. “Could you grab a trash bag? They’re easier for stuffing clothes than actual boxes.”

“Already got you covered,” a voice said from outside the door, and Peter looked up to find May hovering in the doorway. She paused, taking in the half-empty bedroom. “Can’t believe it,” she said quietly, pushing up her glasses. “It’s the whole end of an age here.”

“Not really,” Peter said, taking the trash bag from May. “I’m just a subway ride away.”

“It’s the _principle_ of the thing,” May replied pointedly. She looked at the box on Peter’s desk and sighed. “And you’ve got the photos?”

“Of course I do,” Peter replied. “Gonna plaster the walls with them.”

May smiled, and she looked up at Tony. “Thanks for swinging by to help,” she said. “There’s not really a whole ton of stuff to move to begin with, but we appreciate it.”

“Of course,” Peter heard Tony say. “Glad to help.”

“And you’ve helped a lot,” May said. She turned briefly and then, facing Peter and Tony, she added, “And Morgan’s always a pleasure to have around.”

Peter grinned. Morgan had helped with some of the packing, but after about a half hour, she had grown tired enough for Tony to tell her to sit out and take a power nap. “Eleven year olds can’t stay up too late,” Tony had observed as Morgan had laid down on the couch.

“We’ll be ready to move all this stuff to the apartment after we finish up with the clothes,” Peter said now, opening the bottom drawer of the dresser. Picking up a few pairs of his jeans, he added, “And after that, it should be pretty easy. Ned’s already got all of his stuff set up, and he’s actually away for a few days, so I don’t think the apartment will be that cramped when we get in there.” He paused, and looking up at Tony and May guiltily, he added, “That is, unless you guys aren’t up for that—”

“Don’t start now,” Tony said, kneeling next to Peter by the dresser. He picked up a pair of Peter’s jeans and pushed it into the trash bag. “Told you we’re coming.”

“Tony’s right,” May added from the doorway. “There’s nowhere else we’d rather be.”

Peter smiled down at the drawer. “Thanks,” he said. “Now could you pass me those pants?”

\--

Even with Ned out of town, the apartment still felt a little small for Peter, Tony, Morgan, and May all moving around cardboard boxes and still semi-moved bits of furniture. Peter had already bumped into the same coffee table three times in a row before Tony had finally suggested just moving it to a different location. The next hour had been spent re-arranging the furniture, with Peter alternating between calling Ned and snapping photos to give the final green light.

And after doing _that_ , May had taken one look at the empty kitchen cupboards and announced that Ned and Peter were _not_ going to be eating off of Styrofoam plates. “Back in a minute,” May had said, and she wound up returning with a small stack of plates and cups and utensils.

Morgan, in the meantime, had spent the hours smashing down cardboard boxes and organizing all of Peter’s belongings into similar piles. “Magazines,” Morgan had went down the piles of Peter’s things, “books, photos, and miscellaneous.”

“That’s a big word,” Peter had said, and Morgan had grinned proudly before handing Peter a stack of _National Geographic_.

“So this is it,” Tony now said, pushing a stack of Peter’s books onto the little nightstand by his bed. He looked around the small bedroom. “How’re you feeling?”

“Dunno,” Peter said, carefully taping the photograph of May and himself on one of the white walls. He stood back and, realizing it was a little crooked, took off the photograph to try again. “Excited? Nervous?” He gave a small laugh and glanced around the room himself. “Pretty sure this is the same size as my single back in school.” He taped the photograph back to the wall and looked at Tony. “But I mean, can’t complain. We’ve got a kitchen and a living room. And a bathroom.” Peter paused. “I should probably start a cleaning list.”

Tony smirked. “Don’t want to be stuck cleaning the bathroom?”

“Not _all the time_ ,” Peter said. He ripped a page out of one of his notebooks and, tapping on the paper, decided, “But I should probably wait for Ned to come back. And then we can negotiate…?” His brows furrowed. “Right, that’s the word.” He left the paper on the ground and looked at Tony. “Thanks, again,” he said. “For helping with all this stuff.”

And Peter meant it, because this whole process had felt more natural than things had been in a long time. Moving had almost felt like working in the garage or in the lab, with Peter and Tony moving around each other with a silent understanding of where to go, what to do, when to pause and look back at what work they had finished. Everything had almost felt familiar that way, and Peter didn’t realize how much he craved that familiarity—how much he had _missed_ that familiarity until now, with Peter looking at Tony in the small bedroom.

“Already told you,” Tony said, pocketing his hands. “This is big for you. And…” He paused, and for a second, Peter saw a different emotion flicker across Tony’s face, though he couldn’t quite place what it was. “I told you. Gotta do better.”

Tony’s words left a silence behind, and for a moment, Peter didn’t know what to say. But instead of saying anything, Peter just became aware that the sun was setting behind him—they had been moving things around _all day_ —and the golden light was hitting Tony’s face, and Peter could see his shadow stretching to the walls. The effect was almost lonely, and suddenly Peter felt cold in the stomach, scrambling for something to do or say to bridge the loneliness.

“You didn’t do this because…” Peter paused, already tasting the sourness of the next words in his mouth. He swallowed. “You didn’t just do this because you felt guilty, did you?”

Tony looked at him, and for a second, Peter was almost scared of what Tony was going to say, but then he said, “No. Of course not. That—no.”

“Okay,” Peter said, the cold melting just a little bit. “Okay.”

They stood in silence for another heartbeat before Tony asked, “Did _you_ think I was just doing this because I was guilty?”

“No,” Peter replied automatically.

“Okay,” Tony said. “That’s—okay.”

“Okay,” Peter repeated, and he nodded.

And Tony nodded back.

And a part of Peter wanted to smile, but another part of him didn’t. _Not out of the woods yet_ , he thought, looking at Tony still lit by the golden rays of the sun. At his own shadow stretching longer and longer across the walls.

But Peter was also sick of being stuck in the woods.

“This was nice,” Peter said at last. And then, before he could stop himself, he added, “I missed this. Just us, you know?” Peter wondered if he had said too much too fast, because at first, Tony didn’t say anything.

But then Tony’s expression softened, and then he replied, “Yeah. Been a while, huh?”

“Just a little,” Peter said, and he finally let himself smile.

But Tony didn’t get to answer right away, because then Morgan poked her head into the room. “May says she’s gonna go pick up dinner for us,” she said. “What do you guys want? She says it’s Thai.”

“Tell her I’ll have the usual,” Peter said. He looked at Tony. “Do you…?”

“I’ll just have whatever you get,” Tony replied. A corner of his lips twitched. “I can kind of trust your judgement, right?”

“Maybe,” Peter replied, just the faintest bit of laughter creeping into his voice. He turned to Morgan. “You heard that?”

“Yup,” Morgan chirped. “I’m following May, though. Is that okay?”

“More than okay,” Tony replied, waving a hand. “May knows what she’s doing.”

“Cool,” Morgan said, and she disappeared from the door. A moment later, May appeared at the door, and after Tony affirmed again that Morgan could tag along to get food, the apartment resumed its quiet.

“Do you have any more stuff to unpack?” Tony asked now.

“I don’t think so,” Peter replied. He walked out of the bedroom and into the living room area where, sure enough, there were only a few trash bags left, all of which were still full of clothes. Peter picked up the trash bag and turned to Tony, who was still hovering in the doorway. “I mean, there’s just this,” Peter said. “But we don’t need to…”

“Nah,” Tony said, jerking his head into the bedroom. “You won’t want to do it later.”

“True,” Peter agreed, and picking up the other trash bag, he walked back into the bedroom. He set the trash bags down on the ground and pulling open the dresser drawers, the two got to work. “Shirts first,” was all that Peter said as they dug through the trash bags. Peter picked up a shirt and pressing it to his chest, folded it quickly. He set the shirt back into the dresser and looked over at Tony, who had to fold the shirt against the bed.

When Tony caught Peter watching him, Tony gave an almost sheepish smile. “Can’t do it like that,” he said, nodding to the second shirt Peter was folding across his chest. “Don’t tell anyone.”

“Secret’s safe with me,” Peter replied, though he couldn’t help but watch for a little while longer as Tony folded more shirts across the bed. After sliding in his own folded shirts into the drawer, Peter leaned over to the bed and picked up the other shirts. He tucked them into the dresser and, after a moment of consideration, he re-adjusted the position of his shirts by color. (Not that there were too many colors to begin with—Peter had alternated between white and blue and grey shirts over the last few years.)

“Are you planning to do that with your underwear too?”

Heat crept up the back of Peter’s neck as he whirled around to find Tony holding up a pair of Peter’s boxers. Tony lifted both his eyebrows, an amused smile playing on his lips—the kind of smile that suddenly took Peter back to a different bedroom, to Tony holding up a different piece of clothing with the same casual half-smirk that Tony wore now.

“Hey,” Peter protested, tugging his underwear out of Tony’s hand. He hoped his face wasn’t as red as it felt. “I can go through that on my own. We can do…” He shoved his hand through the trash bags. “Pants instead.” He threw a pair of jeans at Tony, which hit Tony’s chest with a satisfying _thump_.

“Guess I deserved that,” Tony said, just the smallest traces of laughter in his voice.

“Yeah, you did,” Peter mumbled, folding his jeans faster than he had folded his shirts.

“But do you organize your underwear by color?” Tony asked.

“Well, _yeah_ ,” Peter replied, shooting Tony a sidelong glance. “How else?”

Tony smirked then, and Peter returned to folding his jeans. “Do _you_ organize your underwear by color?” Peter asked boldly, shoving his jeans into the second dresser drawer.

“Didn’t organize them by anything at all,” Tony replied, tossing Peter the folded jeans. “It used to drive Pepper—”

Peter caught the jeans just in time to feel the pause. He looked up at Tony, whose laughter had long faded from his face. Peter’s heart sank, and he pushed the jeans into the drawer before taking a small step towards Tony. “Hey—”

“Stupid,” Tony muttered, pushing a hand to his face. “Sorry. Shouldn’t have mentioned—”

“No,” Peter said quietly, placing a hand on Tony’s back. “Tony, it’s fine—”

“It’s not,” Tony interrupted, and Peter could feel Tony shaking underneath his hand. Shaking so lightly, but shaking in the way that Peter knew Tony did whenever he was trying to contain whatever was trapping him. “You shouldn’t have to…” Tony inhaled a sharp breath. “ _Dammit_ ,” he whispered, and his voice cracked ever so slightly, cracking something in Peter in the process.

“We can take a break,” Peter said in a small voice. “Here—we can sit?” He pressed lightly on Tony’s back, and the two lowered to the ground together. Peter directed them against the wall, and then they were both sitting together on the sunlight-warmed floorboards. All the while, Peter kept his hand on Tony’s back.

Tony took another shuddery breath. “Sorry,” he repeated.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for,” Peter replied, but he knew that even as he said those words, Tony couldn’t believe him. Wouldn’t believe him.

“You shouldn’t have to see me like this,” Tony murmured. “You shouldn’t…” He looked at Peter, and Peter could see the utter helplessness in Tony’s eyes. Dark. Wandering.

“Like what?” Peter asked.

“ _This_ ,” Tony said, and Peter heard the first signs of frustration in his voice. He threw up his hands, let them fall back down on his lap. “Stuck.” He groaned, pushing his hands to his face again, but this time out of a stronger strand of frustration. “ _Dammit_.”

“Tony…” Peter hesitated, then he moved his hand up to Tony’s shoulder. “It’s okay. You don’t have to…pretend like everything’s okay. Because it’s not.” With his free hand, Peter gently lowered Tony’s hands from his face. Tony’s hands were warm against his. Calloused. “Tony?”

Tony looked at Peter then, and he looked so tired. “I was angry,” he said after a pause. “Out of _everything_ that’s happened, she died because of something that I couldn’t…fix.” His eyes flicked across Peter’s face. “And you—” He cut himself off, sighed. Tired. “You were trying—you _keep_ trying to…” He looked down at Peter’s hand, still wrapped around Tony’s wrist from when he had tugged his hands down. “Fix things,” Tony said softly. He looked back up at Peter. “You can’t fix this.”

“I’m not trying to,” Peter replied. He let go of Tony’s wrist, let his hand drop from Tony’s back. “I’m just trying to help.” He hesitated then added, “Like always.”

Peter met Tony’s eyes. The sun had fully set now, leaving behind only shadows and a vaguely pink and orange sky outside.

“You said that last night, you know,” Tony said suddenly. “That you just wanted to help.”

Peter blinked. “What?”

“Last night,” Tony repeated. He rested his head against the wall. “Do you remember?” When Peter remained confused, Tony shook his head. “You were half-asleep anyways. But you…said something to me. Before you fell asleep.”

Peter vaguely remembered leaning against Tony. Or, at least, vaguely remembered the smell of Tony’s shirt as he had stumbled to his bedroom. He remembered warmth. First from a body, then from a blanket. Then from a hand. He remembered Tony’s blurry outline in front of him, mumbling something.

“I did,” Peter murmured. “Yeah.”

“It’s tricky,” Tony said. “Accepting help.” He took a deep breath. “Just…all of this. You. Me. _This_. I’m not used to…this part.” He took another deep breath. “Thought this would be easier by now,” he said. He let out a short, bitter laugh. “Guess it’s not.”

“No,” Peter said quietly. He couldn’t bring himself to look away from Tony’s face now, that face that looked so worn and sad and almost disappointed—as though looking this vulnerable was supposed to be a disappointment to Tony himself. “But that’s okay,” Peter said, hoping Tony believed him. Needed Tony to believe him. “You don’t have to make it seem easy.”

“I can’t have Morgan…” Tony’s voice shook briefly, then stabilized. “When, uh…” Tony blinked a few times, but Peter waited. Watched as Tony roughly wiped his hand over his eyes. “I was still in school when my mom died,” Tony said at last. “Winter break, so I didn’t have to go back to school right away.”

 _Like Morgan_ , Peter thought. Only Pepper had died in the middle of the summer, so Morgan didn’t have to go to school right away, either. Peter remembered how in some twisted way, he had been relieved for her. Everyone knew about Pepper Potts’ death, and Peter remembered coming over on the weekends to find Morgan sitting sullenly on the couch. It was always either Tony or Happy who would tell Peter that there had been a bad day—meaning that someone had mentioned Pepper Potts, or some idiot classmate had asked Morgan what the cancer was like.

“So that…” Tony shook his head. “Um. Hm.” He lifted his head, eyes blinking again in the frantic way that people who were trying not to cry did. “That was hard. But Morgan…she’s _supposed_ to have me. In her back corner. So I have to…” He gestured with a hand, looking for the words. “Make it easier. For her.” He looked at Peter. “She can’t…see the bad stuff from me.”

The bad stuff—the first few days when Tony didn’t eat anything. Stayed up working on anything and everything. Except for that first night, the night of the funeral, Peter hadn’t seen Tony crack directly in front of Morgan. He only ever seemed to crack in quiet. In private.

“And you…” Tony’s eyes focused on Peter. “Didn’t want you to see the bad stuff either. Not all of it.”

The shadows were lengthening into the room. The golden glint from the sun had faded away completely, washing everything into a shade of grey and blue. Save for those signs, Peter didn’t know how long they were sitting there. How much time had passed. All Peter knew was that he was here, in this room, with Tony against this wall in this apartment in this pocket of the city.

“It’s okay,” Peter said at last. “You don’t have to keep all the bad stuff away from me.” He hesitated for a moment, then rested a hand against Tony’s back again. “You don’t have to make this seem easy,” he repeated quietly. “Not with me.”

Peter could feel the breaths rising in and out of Tony, could feel the slow surrender to his touch. And then, in the dark, Tony said, “It’s going to take some time.”

And when Peter spoke, the words felt like the most natural thing in the world to him. “That’s okay, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm considering doing updates bi-weekly (Wednesdays and Fridays) instead of just once a week. Would that be something ya'll are interested in, or should I just keep the updates weekly? 
> 
> Kudos/comments are always welcome!


	6. SIX

When Tony got out of the bathroom, May and Morgan had come back, dragged down by the plastic bags of takeout. “Dinner,” May said cheerfully, dumping the plastic bags on the coffee table. “Hope you two aren’t starving your brains out—there was a slight mix-up with one of the orders.”

“But they gave us free satay!” Morgan added, mimicking May’s bright tone. Dumping her own share of plastic bags on the coffee table in the same fashion, Morgan said, “And one of the waiters was flirting!”

At Tony’s bewildered look, May waved her hand. “Same guy who’s been flirting since forever,” she said. “I don’t think he’s processed the fact that I’m dating.”

“Don’t think Happy would be too happy,” Morgan giggled, causing Peter to groan.

“At least try to come up with something _original_ ,” Peter said, but he was grinning as he helped Morgan with the containers in the bag. He looked up at Tony, and with the same grin, Peter said, “I hope you don’t mind spicy food.”

“Please,” Tony snorted, walking towards the coffee table. He helped tug out a few more containers with May and, in the next minute, all four of them were sitting on the rug, respective containers on their laps. Drunken noodles for both Peter and Tony, pad Thai for Morgan, and jungle curry for May. The smell of oil and peanuts and Thai basil floated around the whole apartment until Peter finally got up and propped open a window to let out the smell.

“So you two finished unpacking while we were gone?” May asked, nodding at the emptied trash bags sitting outside Peter’s bedroom.

“Yup,” Peter replied, twirling a noodle around with his chopsticks. “It didn’t take that long.”

Meaning that after Tony and Peter had picked themselves up off the floor, the rest of the time was spent in silent folding and organizing. And when things are done in silence, they’re usually done quickly. But the silence hadn’t been the strange, cold silence that had lingered between Tony and Peter over the summer—but this silence had been the familiar one. Not exactly happy, but the kind of silence that came with an innate knowledge and understanding in how to move around each other.

“That’s nice to hear,” May said. “Thanks for helping again, Tony. And Morgan, of course.”

Morgan beamed up at May through a mouthful of noodles, and Tony was grateful for that. Every few weekends, May would come with Peter to the house, and each time she visited, Morgan would look a little brighter. Tony had long ago since realized where Peter got all his attitude from.

“Glad that we could help,” Tony replied. He glanced over at Peter once, and when Peter looked back at him, Tony directed his eyes down at his plate. Clearing his throat, he said, “God knows Peter and you have helped out with…a lot. We appreciate it.”

“And you know we’re always happy to,” May said gently, and when Tony lifted his head, he found Morgan watching carefully, an odd look on her face. But as soon as she noticed that Tony had seen her, Morgan’s expression returned to one of casualty, and she tucked into another chopstick’s worth of noodles.

“So what now?” May asked Peter, who was chewing through a corner of chicken satay. “Anything you’re excited for? When does your job start again?”

Peter paused mid-chew and, narrowing his eyes up at the ceiling, he said, “Maybe in a week? I have to double-check.” At May’s lifted eyebrows, Peter added hastily, “I’m ninety-nine percent sure it’s in a week.”

May cast a sidelong glance at Tony. “I swear he won’t be this disorganized when he actually starts working.”

At that, Peter protested a small “hey!”, but Tony couldn’t help but smile. And it felt nice, smiling at the mock-indignant look on Peter’s face. This— _this_ —felt like something that was as natural as breathing, and when Peter started using his now-cleared satay stick as a weapon to poke May on the arm, everyone’s laughter filled the small apartment and floated out the windows.

\--

They used the now-empty trash bags as the trash bag for all the greasy Thai takeout containers and chopsticks. After tidying up the rest of the apartment, Tony tied up the bow on the trash bag. “I’ll take it out,” Tony said, but as he was halfway out the door, Peter called after him to wait.

“Coming with you,” Peter said by way of explanation, and the two of them headed down the stairs and into the front of the apartment complex. Even though it was dark out, the temperature hadn’t dropped completely. It was only slightly chilly, what with autumn still being a few weeks away.

“Nice out,” Tony said, looking around the neighborhood—and this _was_ a nice neighborhood. A little messy, and Tony could smell someone smoking maybe a few doors away, but all things considered, Tony figured Peter could have had his living situation much worse. He saw a group of teenagers walking down the street, laughing over their latest adventure.

“Yeah,” Peter said. He turned towards the neighborhood too, and for a moment, the two just observed the street with the same degree of reflection. “Ned was the one who kind of scouted the places first,” Peter said. “Mostly because his parents were _super_ picky.”

“Seems to have paid off,” Tony said, turning around to look up at the apartment. He could already tell which one was Peter’s because of the lights and the vague outlines of May and Morgan moving around the room. “How’re you feeling?”

Peter lifted his shoulders. “Tired,” he said.

“That’s what happens after moving around boxes all day,” Tony mused. And probably also sitting on the floor for who knows how long.

As though reading Tony’s thoughts, Peter said, “Yeah—only tired because of moving, though.” He looked at Tony, and even under the glow of the apartment lights, Tony could make out at same sincere look that only Peter Parker could ever pull off. “You know that, right?”

Tony huffed what sounded like a half-laugh, half-snort, but when he looked at Peter, he made sure to give him a half-smile to let him know that he knew. “So,” Tony said, nodding to the neighborhood. “You’re probably sick of hearing this after May just asked, but…what now?”

Peter shrugged. “Ned comes back tomorrow afternoon,” he replied. “And MJ’s still back in town before she goes off to law school. She’s really excited.”

“Harvard, right?”

Peter grinned. “Yeah,” he said. “I think she’s a little mortified that she’s attending some big school when she hated the idea of Ivy Leagues when we were in high school, but…” He shrugged again. “She was pretty excited when we talked the other day. She was looking at some places to live around Cambridge a little while ago, and she’s found some roommates to split the rent.”

“Good for her.”

“Yeah.” Peter puffed out a breath. “But…yeah. I’ll probably see them at some point before officially starting work.”

“You don’t have to start off as a research assistant, you know,” Tony said. “Even if I’m not directly in charge of Stark Industries anymore, I could still get you to—”

“No,” Peter said quickly. “I—thanks, but it’s all good.” When Tony looked at him, Peter added, “ _Really_. I want to get into the…swing of things, you know?”

“You’ve been getting into the swing of things since high school,” Tony pointed out. “Literally.”

Peter shook his head, but there was a faint smile on his lips. “First of all, that was terrible,” he said, “and second of all, this is just…a little different, you know?” He pocketed his hands. “Also: fresh college graduate. I don’t think I’m _supposed_ to want to be anything more than a research assistant right now. I’ve still gotta…learn the ropes.”

Tony furrowed his brow. The thought of Peter needing to learn any ‘ropes’ was hard for Tony to wrap his mind around, considering that Peter had essentially been working at the Compound since he was fifteen, but the look on Peter’s face was so earnest that Tony only said, “Well, if you ever get fed up with just being an assistant…”

“I won’t,” Peter assured. “Promise.” Then, leaning against the fence of the apartment complex, Peter asked, “What about you? Work wise?”

 _Ah_ , Tony thought, and he tugged his phone out of his pocket. He scrolled through his emails and, yes, his flight for Korea was still on schedule for the day after tomorrow.

For the new CEO.

Tony’s thumb hovered over those words of the email— _new CEO_. Replacement for the late Pepper Potts.

“I’m going to Korea two days from now,” Tony said, pocketing his phone quickly. “Someone’s got it in the head that I’ve got to actually be a _presence_ for the interviews of potential CEO candidates.”

Peter blinked. “Oh,” he said, and Tony saw from the way that Peter’s shoulders slightly fell that he knew what new CEOs were the sign of. Everything was moving on now.

“Two days from now,” Peter said quietly.

“A bit abrupt,” Tony replied. “Could have been worse. Could have been told this morning, which _has_ happened on occasion. Until I got sick of it and skipped out on a dozen meetings just to prove that I could.” At Peter’s slightly bemused look, Tony added, “That was…when I was a little more energetic.” He nodded towards Peter’s window, where he knew May and Morgan were probably waiting now (and wondering what was taking Tony and Peter so long). “Morgan might like the trip to Seoul, though.”

“Yeah,” Peter said. Then, after a pause, he asked, “How long will you guys be gone?”

“Just a week,” Tony replied. Something flickered across Peter’s face, but before Tony could pin down what the emotion actually was, he added, “But the timing actually works. You can spend the week with your pals. Enjoy your last week of freedom before plunging into the doom of having a nine-to-five.”

Peter laughed, but it sounded too quiet in the already quiet neighborhood. “I guess,” he said. Then, shoving his hands deeper into his pockets, Peter nodded to the apartment. “But speaking of timing…” He opened the little fence door. “After you,” he said.

\--

Morgan and May were sitting on the couch, watching an episode of _Avatar_ when Tony and Peter finally walked back into the apartment. Because of that, Tony figured that Morgan was disappointed when he said that it was time to go back home.

“Don’t watch more without me,” Morgan said to May, hopping off the couch.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, kiddo,” May said, dutifully closing the laptop. She followed Morgan to the door, and Peter handed Morgan her sweater.

“Sorry to keep you guys waiting,” Tony said to May as Morgan tugged on her sneakers. “We got distracted.”

“No worries,” May said breezily. “Morgan’s a good watching buddy.” She ruffled a hand through Morgan’s hair. “But you better not watch more of _Avatar_ without me, either.”

“I won’t,” Morgan said solemnly.

“That’s good,” Peter said, “because May takes _Avatar_ more seriously than I do.”

“I find that hard to believe,” Tony murmured, and Peter shot Tony a look of feigned disbelief.

But Tony and Morgan moved towards the door, and as Morgan and Tony were just stepping out the door, Peter asked, “When are you two leaving for Korea again?”

At that, Morgan whipped her head up at Tony. “We’re going to Korea?” she asked excitedly. “When?”

Tony looked at Peter, who gave him a semi-apologetic smile. “Just for a week,” Tony said, looking back down at Morgan. “Day after tomorrow.” He lifted his eyes up to Peter. “Leaving early in the morning. Same place we usually take off.”

“Then…” Peter leaned against the doorway. “Safe travels, then.”

“Wait,” Morgan said, looking between Peter and Tony. “Can Peter come?”

Tony looked at Peter. Just a few minutes ago, he had told Peter he could enjoy the week with his friends, but then he imagined Peter in Korea. A vacation. Maybe? This wouldn’t be the first time Peter went on impromptu trips. (And Morgan was asking anyways, so would it really hurt to ask, too? Just in case.)

“You could come if you want to, you know,” Tony said, and he was surprised by how much quieter his voice sounded, even to himself. “You’ve got a week. Travel just a little bit.”

There was another strange flicker across Peter’s face—the same flicker that Tony had seen earlier, outside in front of the apartment complex. But again, Tony couldn’t tell what it was, and Peter ducked his head down quickly, almost shyly. “Nah,” he said. “You’ve got stuff to do there. And MJ would kill me if I skipped town right when she made a point to come back.”

“That’s fair,” Tony replied, but the words felt far away, even as they were coming out of Tony’s own mouth. “Wouldn’t want to piss her off.”

“Yeah,” Peter said with a small laugh. He looked down at Morgan, who only pouted. “Just have fun, ‘kay?” he told Morgan, rubbing a hand over her head.

“It’d be more fun if you came,” she said. Her face brightened and craning her neck around Peter, she added, “What about May? If May comes, Peter, will you come?”

At that, May laughed. “Sorry, kiddo,” she said. “I’ve got to stay here and hold down the fort, too.”

“Aww,” Morgan whined. She leaned against Tony’s side and added glumly, “Being an adult must suck.” At that, everyone laughed, which left Morgan looking up at all of them with a mixture of annoyance and pride at being the cause of the laughter.

“Well, you know when we’re leaving,” Tony said. “So if you change your mind…”

A corner of Peter’s lips twitched. “Yeah,” he replied. “I know.”

\--

“So we’re really going to Korea?” Morgan asked, leaning onto the armrest console from the back seat. Tony had repeatedly told Morgan that she better have her seatbelt on whenever she did that, and of course, Morgan would always quietly buckle her seatbelt and claim that she had already had her seatbelt on the whole time. But today, Tony heard the strain of the seatbelt with Morgan. She didn’t want any interruptions.

“Yup,” Tony replied. “Just for the week. Excited?”

“Yeah,” Morgan said, hopping a little in her seat. After a pause, she added, “I kinda wish Peter came along, though…” Her voice rose in a hopeful octave.

“You heard him,” Tony said. “He can’t ditch his friends.”

“True,” Morgan sighed. “But what if he only stayed with us for half of the week?”

Tony hadn’t considered that before. “Maybe,” Tony said. “But there’s also jet lag. I don’t know if his friends would appreciate him being half-asleep.”

Morgan sighed again, and for a while, neither of them said anything. It was just the road, and the faint hum of the air conditioner, and then Morgan suddenly asked, “Do you like May?”

Tony glanced over at Morgan, raising his eyebrows. “She’s a nice lady.”

“Yeah, but do you _like_ like May?” Morgan’s eyebrows were furrowed together, and she looked so serious that Tony didn’t know whether to laugh or not. But then he remembered the strange look Morgan had given him earlier that evening.

“No,” Tony said, and he reached over to briefly rub the top of Morgan’s head. “May’s great, but I don’t _like_ like her. Plus, I’m pretty sure she’s doing fine with Happy.” At that, he felt Morgan relax a little.

“Okay,” she said. After a moment, she added, “I think May’s nice, too. I just wanted to make sure.”

“Why?” Tony asked, even though he already knew why.

Morgan’s voice became quieter. “I mean…” Her voice drifted. “I just…I don’t want you to forget Mommy.”

“Morgan…” Tony looked over at Morgan again before turning back to the road. “I can’t ever…” Dammit, Tony could hear the tremble in his own voice. The road blurred for a moment before him, and Tony was grateful that the highway wasn’t busy right now.

“I can’t ever forget Mommy,” Tony said. He reached for Morgan, and he felt her small hand fit into his. “Okay? No one can ever replace Mommy. Mommy was one of a kind. No one else like her.”

“Okay,” Morgan said, and Tony heard the small shake in her voice, too. When Tony looked at Morgan again, she was wiping a fist across her eyes. “I don’t wanna be mean,” she said in a small voice. “Am I being mean if I don’t want you to—”

“No,” Toy said quickly. “Of course not.”

“Okay,” Morgan repeated. “Because I really like May. I just don’t want her to be my mom.”

“Don’t worry,” Tony said, squeezing Morgan’s hand. “You’ve only got one mom.”

\--

 _did you get home safe?_ Peter.

 _yeah_ , Tony texted back. He plopped down at his desk. Morgan had fallen asleep almost immediately after coming home, so now the house was even quieter than it already was. It wasn’t too late, either—but the day had been busy, so Tony wasn’t surprised.

 _traffic wasn’t that bad,_ Tony added.

 _that’s good,_ came Peter’s response.

 _and morgan’s conked out_.

_shouldn’t you be, too?_

Tony looked at the clock. Inching towards ten thirty now.

There was another soft ding of a text arriving from Tony’s phone, and when he looked down, Peter had texted, _maybe you should get some sleep too._

Tony looked down at his desk.

 _it’s not that late_ , Tony texted back, and as soon as he sent the message, his phone started ringing.

“It’s not that late,” Tony said, picking up.

Peter laughed on the other end, but it was a sleepy laugh. Tony could imagine Peter stretched out on his bed right now, probably his eyes already half-closed. “Aren’t you tired?” he asked.

“Never.”

There was some muffling on the other end. Peter was probably rolling over on his bed. “You’re gonna have to travel,” Peter said. “And run around to business meetings.”

“So?”

“So get some sleep,” Peter replied.

“You know,” Tony said, leaning back against his seat, “Morgan came up with the crazy idea that you could come with us for just half the week.”

“Uh-huh?” Tony could hear the smile in Peter’s voice.

“Yeah,” Tony said.

There was another laugh from Peter’s end. “That’d be fun,” he said. “But you know I gotta stay.”

“Yeah,” Tony replied, and he _did_ know. He felt like he needed to say something else, though. He wasn’t sure what. So he settled for, “’night.”

“’night, Tony. Sleep.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Tony replied, and he hung up.

He decided to go to bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From here on out, I'll update this story twice a week! 
> 
> As always, comments/kudos are greatly appreciated!!


	7. SEVEN

Peter was leaning against the stairs leading up to the jet when Tony finally pulled up on the apron. Happy had told Peter that a bigger surprise would be if he just hid in the actual private jet himself, but Peter had said he was pretty sure Morgan (or Tony, for that matter) would just find a way to trap him into the jet. Happy had laughed at that.

So Peter tried to present himself as casually as possible, but that was difficult when the railing to the steps was digging into his spine a little harder than Peter was comfortable with. Still, Peter made sure to keep himself neutral as Tony got out of the car.

“Wanted to say bye,” Peter said as a quizzical smile played over Tony’s face. He walked past Tony and, dragging the suitcases out of the trunk, added, “Since it’s going to be a week and all.”

“Here,” Tony said, taking the bags from Peter’s hands. As the suitcases passed along, Tony said, “And for a crazy second, I thought you had changed your mind and decided to hitch a ride with us.”

“Crazy,” Peter agreed. As soon as he said that, the back seat door opened, and Morgan came tumbling out, one hand rubbing at her eyes.

“Peter?” she asked sleepily. “Are you comin’?”

“Sorry,” Peter said, helping Morgan out of the car. “Just here to see you guys off.”

“Aw,” Morgan said, disappointed, but still, through heavy-lidded eyes, Morgan added, “We’ll be back soon, so don’t miss us too much.”

“Better get back fast, then,” Peter said lightly. He looked up at Tony, but he was already passing the suitcases along to Happy. He looked back down at Morgan. “Happy will be with you guys for a few days, though, so you’ll have fun with him, right?”

“Uh-huh,” Morgan said. She yawned and, giving Peter a clumsy hug around his middle, said, “Bye, Peter. See you in a week.”

“Bye, Morgan,” Peter said, giving her a quick squeeze before pushing her gently towards the jet. Morgan climbed up the stairs, and taking Happy’s hand, she disappeared through the doors. But then Morgan re-appeared at one of the windows just a second later, and she waved once at Peter before slumping back in her seat.

Peter smiled to himself. He wondered what time Morgan had woken up, and exactly what Tony had to do to drag Morgan out of the house on time.

“She’ll probably sleep through the whole flight.”

Peter looked at Tony. He looked tired too, but his eyes were clear, which Peter took as a good sign. “Doesn’t look like she’ll be the only one,” Peter said. “Korea’s like, sixteen hours away, right?”

“Fourteen,” Tony corrected. “It’ll be about noon when we touch down. Morgan will be thrilled to know that she’s technically staying up past her bedtime.”

Peter grinned. “Every eleven year old’s dream, right?”

“Amongst other things,” Tony replied. Leaning against the stairs railing, he added, “What about you? Big plans?”

“MJ came back last night, so Ned and I are going to go catch up with her,” Peter replied. He pocketed his hands. “She says hi, though.”

“Did you tell her that Morgan pitched the idea of going to Korea?”

“Didn’t seem like it was just Morgan pitching the idea,” Peter said, and at that, Tony smirked.

“Caught me,” Tony said, straightening against the railing. He looked up at the jet. “Happy’s probably going to tell me to go up in a few seconds.”

“Yeah,” Peter said, taking a small step back. “Just…um.” He let his hands out of his pockets just for something to do. “Have a nice flight. Safe flight. I mean, nothing will probably happen on the flight because the jet’s crazy safe, and Happy wouldn’t let anything happen, but—”

“Peter.”

“Yeah,” Peter said, letting out a breath. He lifted his eyes up to Tony, who gave him a semi-amused smile. “What I mean to say is,” Peter said, “have fun. And you can still make calls across the ocean, right?” After a beat, Peter answered for himself, “Of course you can.”

“You got me worried for a second there,” Tony replied, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Might be late here by the time I reach Korea, though.”

“It’s okay,” Peter said quickly, faster than he even realized. He paused and, feeling heat crawl up the back of his neck, he added, “Unless you’re busy. If you’re busy, then don’t call. But if not, then you can. Unless you don’t want to.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “Just c’mere,” he said, and wordlessly, Peter let himself get pulled into a quick hug. Peter rested his forehead against Tony’s shoulder, sank into the warmth that he knew and missed for the longest time. And when he pulled away, he breathed in the smell of burning wood and machine oil, which was surprisingly not unpleasant because of course, it was Tony.

“Grab a souvenir for me,” Peter said, taking a small step back. “And pictures.”

“As long as you don’t get jealous,” Tony replied. He climbed up some of the steps and, looking down at Peter, said, “See you in a week. Don’t get into trouble.”

Peter grinned, but he only waved. “Bye, Tony.”

He caught a glimpse of Tony’s smile before he disappeared into the jet.

\--

“Gang’s finally back together,” Ned enthused as he balanced a small tray of milkshakes over to their table.

“Finally,” MJ said, swiping her chocolate shake off the tray. She lifted the shake in unison with Ned and Peter, and after clinking their plastic cups together, she added, “Good to be back. I missed you nerds.”

“ _We’re_ the nerds?” Peter asked around his straw. “You’re the one going back to _school_.”

“After saying that all schools were essentially socially acceptable prisons,” Ned added.

“ _And_ saying for nearly half of college that you were going to drop out,” Peter said.

“ _Hey_ ,” MJ protested, lightly slapping both Peter and Ned’s arms. Still, she smiled as she said, “A girl can change her mind.” After a pause, she added, “And maybe I can make a case for public school being prisons after getting a law degree.”

“Game the system,” Ned said solemnly, taking a sip of his shake.

“Exactly,” MJ agreed, and waving a hand, she said, “Seriously, though. You guys wouldn’t _believe_ some of the apartments I had to go through. Or the roommates that I had to meet.” She wrinkled her nose. “I’m pretty sure one of them was someone straight out of _Gone Girl_ which is, like, cool, but I wasn’t sure if I could balance that out with homework and cold-calling professors, you know?”

Peter snorted into his drink because honestly, having a roommate out of _Gone Girl_ sounded like exactly the thing MJ would pursue, but when MJ looked at him, Peter schooled his features into one of complete innocence.

“So how about you two?” she asked, twirling her straw in her cup. “How’s your place coming along?”

“It’s all good,” Peter replied. “Got officially moved in a few days ago.”

“And our neighbors are nice,” Ned added. “One of them has a cat.”

“Nice,” MJ said with a nod of approval. “And the jobs?”

“Software is both simultaneously boring and interesting,” Ned reported promptly.

“And I start next week,” Peter said when MJ turned to him.

“Nice,” MJ repeated. “Excited?”

“A little,” Peter replied, thinking about how he had spent his childhood poring over magazine and newspaper articles of Stark Industries. How star-struck he had been when he first actually entered one of the facilities. Tony had been there, of course, which had been a whole other category of star-struck in itself at the time. Speaking of, Tony would be landing in Korea soon. Peter glanced down at his watch. It was nearing eleven, which would mean nearing noon in Korea.

“That’s really great for you guys, though,” MJ said, causing Peter to look up from his watch. “We might have actually tricked people into thinking that we’re doing our twenties correctly.” She crinkled her nose. “Are we?”

“I dunno,” Ned deadpanned. “I still prefer for Peter to order takeout over the phone instead of me.”

“Which is annoying,” Peter said, kicking Ned lightly under the table.

“Maybe that’s something worth working on,” MJ said, grinning at the two of them. “Especially with Peter still…swinging around.” When Peter looked at her, MJ’s face softened. “I still keep up with the news. I mean, it’s kind of hard not to. Spider-Man rocking hard in New York after taking a break in Massachusetts and all.”

“Yeah,” Peter replied, wrapping his hands around his shake. He gave MJ a small smile, which she returned. Even in college, he had still swung around the city. It had been a little odd at first, mostly because Cambridge wasn’t at all like New York City. There weren’t as nearly as many skyscrapers, for one, and there weren’t as many people, either. But he had still stuck around, and MJ had been the one to drag him into his dorm when the hours got too late. “Things have been quiet lately, though. Not as much to do.”

“That could be good, though,” MJ said. “Every superhero needs a break, right?”

Peter looked back down at his shake. “Yeah,” he said. That had been another thing in school, too. Lots of late hours. Nights when MJ would ease Peter into the twin bed of his dorm, and the two would lay together at three in the morning, and when Peter woke up, MJ would have already gone to class.

When they stopped dating, MJ had still stayed. She still waited up for Peter, still slammed the window closed as soon as he swung in. But there had been a period of time when things had been awkward between them, Peter not knowing what to say, and MJ not knowing what to say, and then MJ walking out of Peter’s dorm, and Peter wondering when things were ever going to become normal again.

Looking at MJ now, Peter was glad that things were normal.

“There hasn’t been anything too crazy going on these days anyways,” Ned said. “Maybe all of the big baddies finally gave up after seeing Peter swing around so many times.”

“Maybe,” Peter said. “That wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.”

“Maybe,” MJ echoed. And from there, the conversation quickly swerved back to the normal—the latest episodes of the sitcom they had all been watching together (“I call bullshit on this being the last season,” MJ said), the released trailer of _another Star Wars_ trilogy (“told you they’re not done yet!” Ned crowed), and the fantasy of MJ’s roommate being an alien (“but haven’t you been around enough aliens to know by now?” Peter asked).

The conversation hit a steady rhythm, and a comfortable warmth settled over Peter’s whole body as he looked between Ned and MJ. This was one kind of familiarity that Peter hoped would never go away, even as MJ flicked a bit of her milkshake at Peter’s face.

As he wiped at his cheek, though, Peter felt a buzz in his pocket. He snuck out his phone to see a picture of Morgan beaming at the camera. She was standing in front of a set of impressive floor-to-ceiling windows, and behind her, Peter could make out what had to be the Seoul skyline. A second later, Tony texted: _she’s definitely happy that she’s staying up past her bedtime._

Peter smiled to himself, texting back, _every eleven year old’s dream_ before sliding his phone back in his pocket. When he looked back up, both Ned and MJ were looking at him curiously.

“Sorry,” Peter said. “That was Tony. He just landed in Korea.” He grinned at his friends. “Don’t worry, I’m not cheating on you guys with other friends.”

“Better not,” Ned said. Taking a sip from his milkshake, he added, “How’s Tony, though?”

“Is he…doing okay?” MJ asked carefully.

Peter thought about how Tony and he had been in the apartment, Peter with one hand on Tony’s back as the shadows spread across the floor. Then he thought about the smile Tony had given him when he reached the jet, the quick hug before taking off.

“He’s doing better,” Peter replied. “He’s just going to Korea for some…CEO stuff.”

At that, both MJ and Ned nodded. They hadn’t been at the funeral themselves, but they had been there when Peter came back.

“Morgan’s happy about going to Korea, though,” Peter added, trying to keep the mood light. “Look,” he said, and he showed his friends the picture Tony had sent him. At that, both MJ and Ned started to smile again, and after fully absorbing and appreciating the Morgan’s adorability, Peter slid his phone back into his pocket. “For real though,” Peter said, looking up at his friends, “Tony’s doing okay. We’re all doing okay. Better.”

“It’s good that you guys have each other,” MJ said with a small smile. “I’m sure he appreciates it.”

Peter lifted his shoulders, but he couldn’t help but to feel another surge of heat rise up to his cheeks. “It’s all fine,” he said quickly. “I’m just…glad. That we’re talking.” He thought about how familiar Tony felt earlier that morning. How he had welcomed the warmth like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Anyways,” Peter said, taking a quick sip from his shake, “if you guys had to travel anywhere, where would you go?”

\--

It was nearly one in the morning by the time Peter and Ned finally stumbled back to their apartment. They had ended the night by walking around the city, popping in and out of shops and delis if they were hungry and walking circles around the same neighborhood until they ran out of things to talk about. Nothing big, nothing extraordinary, but Peter suddenly felt like they were back in college or even back in high school, talking about anything and everything at once.

Now, judging by the absolute silence from the other bedroom, Ned was completely asleep, and Peter…

Peter plopped himself down into bed and held up his phone. There was just another message from Tony: _how’d your day go?_ It had been sent about an hour and a half ago. Peter checked the world clock on his phone—it would be about two in Korea by now.

But Tony answered on the first ring. “Shouldn’t you be asleep by now?”

“My day went fine,” Peter replied, trying to smother the smile that was already creeping up his lips. “Just thought you should know.”

“Yeah? Any wild stories to share? Keep it PG, though—Morgan’s taking a nap in the other room, but I don’t know if she’s actually just faking it.”

“Am I on speaker?” Peter asked, lifting his eyebrows.

“Now you’re not.”

Peter rolled his eyes. “Our night doesn’t even hit PG. We’re in the G rating. We had milkshakes and talked a lot.” He stretched out his legs, adding, “And we walked. For a forever. But it was good. MJ’s curious about whether or not her roommate might be an alien.”

“…do we _want_ the roommate to be an alien?”

“Don’t know. I think MJ would have known by now, but she’s still investigating.”

“So we’ll probably know by next week,” Tony said dryly.

Peter grinned. “At the latest,” he replied. Rolling over on his side, he asked, “So what did you guys do?”

“We got lunch sent up to us from a place nearby,” Tony replied. “Morgan had to get taught how to use chopsticks properly.”

Peter imagined Morgan’s eyebrows furrowing in concentration around the chopsticks. Even when ordering takeout the other night, Peter had noticed that Morgan stuck to using a fork. “And you?” Peter asked.

“I’m a natural, of course.”

“Of course.”

“We went for a quick walk afterwards. Ran into a few food vendors, so that was interesting. I think Morgan’s obsessed with Korean food now.” Tony paused, and a moment later, he said, “That _might_ be why she’s napping. Food coma plus jet lag.”

“That would do it,” Peter said, just barely stifling a yawn himself.

Tony’s voice was soft as he said, “You should probably go sleep, too.”

“Mm,” Peter murmured, and keeping the phone close to his ear, he kicked up his covers. They landed over his legs. “What about you? Shouldn’t you be, like, exhausted by now?”

“Just a touch,” Tony replied, and Peter heard a rustling which he knew (and hoped) were sheets. “But you’ve had a long day.”

“You were traveling,” Peter pointed out, rubbing a hand over his eyes. The lights of some passing cars sped past his window, lighting up his room for just the briefest of moments before sinking Peter back into the dim lighting of his own bedside lamp. “Your day was objectively longer than mine.”

“Time is relative.”

Peter smiled. For a moment, he could only hear the quietest strains of Tony’s breaths through the phone, which he supposed would be strange to anyone else, but to Peter, it wasn’t. “Tony?” Peter whispered at last, sinking deeper into his bed.

“Yeah?” Tony’s voice was soft, scratched lightly by the faintest traces of oncoming sleep.

Peter closed his eyes. “I’m tired.”

“Me too, kid.”

“Mm.” Peter rolled over on his back, phone still to his ear. “I think I’m gonna fall asleep now.”

“You do that.”

“Good night, Tony.”

“’night, Peter.”

But Peter didn’t hang up, and neither did Tony. And Peter couldn’t bring himself to hang up—he was too tired.

He fell asleep to the sound of Tony’s breathing miles and miles away.

\--

When Peter woke up, he checked his phone. The call with Tony had ended hours ago. Tony must have hung up eventually. Peter looked down at the screen, at the number of hours they had apparently been on the phone together just _breathing_ and sleeping before the call ended.

Peter’s thumb hovered over the screen, the hours staring up at him. A part of Peter wanted to call Tony again, but it was probably late over there—Tony would probably still be asleep.

Still, as Peter set his phone back on the nightstand, he felt a growing emptiness. And as Peter sank back into his bed, he wished he could hear Tony breathing beside him. Hear his sleepy voice, the huffing laugh. 

Peter’s chest suddenly felt too tight, remembering Tony’s quiet laugh into the phone, remembering how he rested his forehead against Tony’s shoulder and just breathed him in. Held on to him.

And now, that emptiness inside of Peter longed for that same touch, that same warmth.

Peter checked his phone again. Just one week.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the support! I've created an official [Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/charonsdescent/), where I plan on posting Starker moodboards, and a [YouTube](https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCn23LjUa3M9Btt32XSBfhcw)  
> , where I'm also posting Starker vids/edits. Both have corresponding stuff to this story, so if ya'll are interested, there's that! 
> 
> As always, kudos/comments are so appreciated!!!


	8. EIGHT

The week went by quickly. There were a number of CEO candidates, all of them looking exactly the same and coming in with almost the exact same resume. There were people of different ages—some from graduating right out of business school, others who were closer to Tony’s age, and one candidate had teenaged grandchildren. But the interviews all went the same: a handshake, a formal introduction, questions from all the other executives about the kinds of things that this candidate could bring to Stark Industries. And just when the other executives started to nod amongst themselves ( _yes, maybe this is the one_ ), Tony would ask a final question, and the candidate would always be thrown off-guard. Didn’t really matter what the question was—the candidate would always stop and stumble over his or her answer, refuse to make eye-contact with Tony, or look at the other executives as though wondering if someone was going to intervene. Which, of course, made all the executives sink a little in their seats because the second the candidate would walk out of the room, Tony would declare that this person wasn’t the right one.

And the cycle would repeat.

Such had been the cycle for nearly the entire week, and there was only one candidate left.

The others were already arguing when Tony walked into the large meeting room. “Morning,” he said, seating himself at the impressively long table at the center of the room. “It’s absolutely horrendous outside, by the way. Rain and everything.”

One of the directors—Johnson, and Tony can only remember his name because of the first video call—looked up at Tony. “Mr. Stark, we have some concerns,” he said.

“And it’s not even nine yet,” Tony said dryly.

“Mr. Stark,” Johnson repeated. “So far, you have turned down almost every—”

“Not almost,” Tony corrected. “Just say it for what it is.”

Johnson sighed. “You have turned down _every_ single candidate we’ve brought in thus far,” he said. “We need to make a decision soon. Should you decide to turn down the candidate about to walk in through those doors right now, then…” His voice drifted as Tony fixed his gaze on him.

“Yes?” Tony asked.

“We’ll have to come to a decision on our own,” one of the other executives said. A woman with a brown bob. “We do not want such to be the case, but we will need your cooperation.” She held her gaze with Tony, and for that, at least, Tony felt the smallest flicker of approval.

“Well,” Tony said, turning round to the other executives, “let’s see who we’re holding up.”

At that, the doors opened, and a young man walked in. He was dressed in a navy blue suit, and though he looked young, the way the man surveyed the room demonstrated a bright alertness that already, Tony knew that the other candidates didn’t quite have. The man tilted his head at everyone once, and seated himself at the seat reserved for interviewees.

“Mr. Osborn,” Johnson said warmly. “I trust your travel wasn’t too tiresome.”

“Not at all,” the man replied. His voice was young, too. Tony flicked his eyes down to the profile that had been distributed right before the doors opened. Harry Osborn was only a few years older than Peter, but then Tony’s eyes landed on a familiar name at the bottom of the profile.

Oscorp.

Tony didn’t need to do any research of his own to know exactly who this Harry was. He looked back at Osborn and wondered why he hadn’t known the second the man had walked into the room. Now that Tony was focusing, he realized that Harry Osborn did bear some resemblance to his father, Norman. Norman, who Tony had never actually known personally or professionally, but had certainly seen in the same social functions. Norman, who had been arrested and died in prison attempting to execute some dangerous experiment in his own company.

Tony didn’t know he had a son.

As the other executives rattled off their typical questions, Tony scanned over Harry’s resume. Again, he found the typical credentials: graduated at the top of his class at CalTech, worked at a number of engineering firms, rose through the ranks, and then went off to Harvard Business School. Tony looked back up at Harry, and found that Harry was looking right at him.

It was a quick look—one that Tony was sure that if he blinked, he wouldn’t have even thought Harry was looking at him to begin with. But Harry’s eyes (a shocking bright blue) rested on Tony for a second longer than Tony anticipated. For a second, Tony thought he saw a smile rise on Harry’s face, but then Harry was turning back to the other executives.

“Well, you sound like a dedicated individual, Mr. Osborn,” Johnson was saying. “However, we must admit that as a board, we _are_ concerned about one certain matter.”

At that, Harry actually smiled. “You’re talking about my father.”

An uncomfortable silence filled the room. A few executives looked at Tony, as though waiting for him to step in, but Tony only shrugged his shoulders.

“You misunderstand me,” Harry said at the obvious discomfort. “I never endorsed my father’s actions. I chose to distance myself from Oscorp, even after other people—better people—took charge of my family’s company.” He leaned back against his seat ever so slightly, just enough to show ease—but not far back enough to show cockiness. Smart, Tony noted. “You can check my history. Not once have I gone back to Oscorp. I stay in contact with a few family friends, but all of our exchanges aren’t work related.” He gave another dry smile at the table around him. “I’m well aware of the fear of the sins of the father falling on the son,” he said. “But I can assure you—I am not the kind to pick up Norman Osborn’s legacy.”

This time, Harry’s gaze swept across the whole room before landing once more on Tony. “Surely, we all know a thing or two about complicated families?”

At that, everyone’s eyes flicked towards Tony. He felt the pressure of everyone’s gaze on him, and when Tony looked at Harry, he found that the young man wasn’t backing down now.

\--

The next morning, it’s official: Harry Osborn will be the new CEO of Stark Industries.

\--

“Can we go to Korea again?” Morgan asked as the jet made its descent. “Soon? With everyone?”

“Sure,” Tony replied easily. “We can again during one of your breaks.”

“Awesome,” Morgan said, leaning back against her seat. She glanced down at her backpack and, with a pleased smile, she added, “I’m gonna have the coolest pens out of everyone in the grade.” Which was probably true—Tony didn’t know that there were so many different ways to make pens and pencils look actually appealing for people to use. And it hadn’t just been other eleven year olds like Morgan, either. Whole masses of people from all different ages had clustered around all of the different stationery stores.

“Do you think Peter will like the plush, too?” Morgan asked, tugging out the stuffed bear from her backpack. The bear wore a blue hoodie, one that was similar to one of Peter’s own hoodies. Tony had been told that this bear was actually a well-recognized character in Korea, but maybe Peter would know what it was. Either way, it had been cute. And Peter wanted a souvenir, anyways.

“I think he’ll like it,” Tony replied. He tweaked the bear’s nose. “Looks enough like him.”

“Like a bear?” Morgan asked, squeezing the plush.

“Just the…” Tony waved a hand around the bear’s face. “Just the expression.”

Morgan shrugged. “I guess so,” she said, and then the jet landed.

A minute later, Happy appeared at the front of the cabin. “Looks like you guys got a visitor,” he said, barely suppressing a smile. And just judging by that smile, Tony already knew who it was.

And when Tony walked down from the jet, he found that Peter was waiting in front of a car. His hands were in his pockets, and under the light of the setting sun, Peter’s eyes glinted with his usual warmth. “Hey,” he said when Tony came close enough.

“I’m guessing you didn’t miss me at all,” Tony said lightly as Peter took Tony’s suitcase. “Real dread on your face there, Pete.”

“Yeah, totally,” Peter said over his shoulder as he threw the suitcase into the trunk. He walked back around the car. “I called Happy before. Told him to keep it secret.”

Tony looked over his shoulder. Happy was helping Morgan out of the jet, carefully avoiding eye-contact with Tony. Turning back around to Peter, Tony said, “Didn’t think Happy was capable of keeping secrets. Anything else you’ve been teaching him?”

“He knows how to knit now,” Peter said. “Not joking. May taught him.”

“Nice to know,” Tony replied. He leaned against the front of Peter’s car, his shoulder just barely brushing Peter’s. He smelled citrus. The fresh air smell that Peter always carried with him from spending so much time in the wind. “How was your week?”

“Good,” Peter replied. He scuffed his sneaker lightly against the concrete. “A little quiet, but it was nice. MJ left this morning.”

“She’s off to discover if her roommate’s an alien?”

A corner of Peter’s lips lifted. “Yeah,” he replied, and that was all he could say before Morgan came hurtling from the jet. All Tony processed was a blur of color before he heard Peter let out a small “ooph” as Morgan crashed headfirst into his stomach.

“Did you miss us?” Morgan asked, looking up at Peter.

“Of course,” Peter said. He pushed back Morgan’s hair and, narrowing his eyes, he asked, “Did you grow a little?”

At that, Morgan brightened even more than Tony thought was possible. “Really?” she asked, and whipping her head to Tony, she said, “We gotta check!” Tugging on Peter’s hand, she said, “C’mon, c’mon, c’mon!”

 _Help_ , Peter mouthed at Tony before getting into the car. Tony only grinned. It was nice to be back.

\--

The whole ride home was mostly filled with Morgan’s chatter. Peter took it in with a stride, alternating between saying “ _really_?” and “wow, that’s so cool!” and just constant nodding and smiling. Every once in a while, Tony would just turn and look at Peter, and then Peter would look at him, and there’d be some quiet understanding that passed between them before Peter turned back to the road.

But Tony couldn’t actually say anything to Peter—not with Morgan still talking. And he didn’t mind that, either. The silence between Peter and himself didn’t feel awkward. It was normal. Mundane. A comfortable kind of mundane.

By the time Peter finally pulled up to the house, Morgan was still talking. “There was so much stuff in Korea,” Morgan was saying as Peter opened the door for her. “Daddy and I went to see one of the palaces, and it was _so_ big! And there were these women and men walking around in traditional Korean clothing, and they were really colorful, but one of the women told me that it was super uncomfortable to wear because there’s _so_ many layers. And it was _really_ hot out, too. I would _die_.”

“Doesn’t sound fun,” Peter agreed, passing Morgan her backpack.

“But after that, we got pens! And pencils!” Morgan started to unzip her backpack, but before she could do it all the way, she brightened up again. “Wait, I gotta measure myself first! Back in a second!” And then she zipped off, and Tony imagined that if she could, she probably would have kicked up dust.

“She’s still wired,” Tony said, picking up Morgan’s backpack. He looked at Peter. “Were you able to keep up with any of that?”

“Some,” Peter said sheepishly. “Sounds like you guys had a lot of fun though.”

“Obviously,” Tony replied. Then, unzipping Morgan’s backpack, he pulled out the plush bear. At Peter’s puzzled look, Tony tossed the bear over to him. Peter just barely caught it before Tony said, “You said you wanted something from Korea. Thought it looked like you.”

Peter looked down at the bear, a smile slowly stretching across his face. “It’s cute,” he said, looking up at Tony. “Can’t believe you remembered.”

“Of course I would,” Tony replied, pocketing his hands. “Morgan and I searched high and low.” Actually, Tony had been the one searching, but he wasn’t about to let Peter know that.

Peter smiled, tucking the bear under his arm. “Thanks,” he said. He looked around at the suitcases still lying around the parlor. “Should we move these?”

“Nah,” Tony said, closing the door behind Peter. “Unpacking’s for later.” He moved towards the kitchen. “I could kill for some food, though. Ordering in as we speak. Pizza, though. I’m not taking any criticism.”

“I wasn’t going to,” Peter said, and even though Tony wasn’t looking, he could just see the smile on Peter’s face. As Tony lifted the phone to his ear, Morgan ran into the kitchen again, declaring that she had, indeed, grown just the tiniest bit. When Tony turned around, Peter was raising his hand to give Morgan a high-five, and he lifted his hand higher and higher, teasing Morgan to clap her hand against his on time.

“Don’t stab his eye out,” Tony said once he got off the phone. “We don’t need another Nick Fury situation.”

“Peter can’t ever be Mr. Fury,” Morgan said solemnly, though she stopped jumping up for Peter’s face. “Peter’s too nice.”

“True,” Tony agreed. He looked at Peter, whose curls had now fell into his eyes from jumping for the last few seconds. He brushed back Peter’s curls lightly, just enough so that Peter could see clearly. “Just so you don’t run into anything later,” Tony said as Peter looked up at him. He dropped his hand to his side. Then, turning to Morgan, Tony asked, “How do you feel about pizza?”

“Great. I feel great about pizza,” Morgan replied promptly. Her face brightened. “Peter, did you know they’ve got a _billion_ different kinds of pizza in Korea? They have _black_ pizza!”

At Peter’s questioning look, Tony shrugged. “Squid ink is big in Korea right now,” he explained.

“Huh,” was Peter’s only comment, followed by the slightest scrunching of his nose.

“Not exactly my taste either,” Tony said. “But hey, points for creativity.”

“They got cool pens, though,” Morgan chirped. She unzipped her backpack. “Wanna see?” Without waiting for Peter’s response, Morgan tugged out the colorful pens and pencils from her backpack, followed by a spiral notebook. “C’mon,” she said, and after tugging Peter into the living room, she flipped open her notebook to show off the different colors of her new stationery.

“Here,” Morgan said, ripping out a sheet of paper and passing it along to Peter. She passed along a few pens. At Peter’s questioning look, she said, “Drawing contest!”

“I’m not good at drawing,” Peter admitted.

“Neither am I,” Morgan said, grinning. “But the colors are pretty, don’t you think?” She uncapped a highlighter and streaked the page with a pastel blue. She looked over her shoulder at Tony. “Daddy, do you wanna join?”

“No drawing for me,” Tony said, sitting down next to Peter. “I’ll just act as the supreme judge.”

“So I’m a goner,” Peter said.

“Basically,” Tony replied with a smirk.

Peter gave an exaggerated sigh, but he still picked up one of the pens and started to draw. And Peter was right—he wasn’t much of an artist, but Tony still found himself focusing on the little doodles that Peter created along the margins of the page. Himself, swinging from a skyscraper. Tony in his suit, soaring above the clouds. Morgan, shooting off to the stars in a spaceship. Peter’s fingers were long and lithe, holding up the pen as though he actually was an artist.

Then Peter looked over at Tony. “What?” he asked. His voice was quiet, quieter than Tony had anticipated.

Tony only nodded down at the drawings. “They’re not bad.”

“So maybe I’m not a goner?” Peter asked lightly.

A corner of Tony’s lips twitched. “Maybe not,” he said. “You’re forgetting something, though.” He plucked the pen out of Peter’s hand and drew a quick circle around the doodle of Peter, Tony, and Morgan so that they were all in a more enclosed space. “There,” he said, handing Peter back the pen. “I just made your domain more specific.”

Peter took the pen. He smiled down at the picture. “Guess you did,” he said. He looked over at Tony. “I missed you,” he said then, almost shyly. He tapped the pen against the doodle. “I’m glad that you’re back.”

Tony looked down at the doodles and then back at Peter. His curls had fallen down his forehead again, but Tony didn’t bother to push it out of his face this time. “Missed you too,” he said, and he was surprised to find how quiet his own voice was, too.

Peter’s eyes lowered to the drawing. To the circle around the doodles and then, Tony thought he was going to say something, but then Peter only smiled again. “How were the meetings?” he asked, and Tony sat back a little. This time, Morgan lifted her head from her paper curiously.

“It was fine,” Tony said. “You’ll probably meet him when you start work.” Before either Peter or Morgan could say anything, there was a knock on the door, and Tony had never been more grateful for the quick relief in answering any more questions.

 _Saved by the bell_ , he couldn’t help but think as he took the pizzas away from the delivery person.

\--

“I should probably get going now,” Peter said, stretching his arms over his head.

“You’re not staying over?” Tony asked, looking up from the empty pizza box that he was currently crushing.

“Nah,” Peter said, shoving his hands in his pockets. “You guys just came back from Korea. I’m not about to crash in tonight.”

“Why not?” Morgan asked. “We don’t mind.”

“Nah,” Peter repeated. “Besides, Ned will get lonely.” He rubbed Morgan’s head and scooping up his sweater, Peter added, “I’ll see you guys next week, though. After surviving my first week of work.” A brief look of panic flitted across his face.

“It’ll be fine,” Tony assured. He walked around the kitchen island to Peter. “ _You’ll_ be fine.”

At that, Peter quickly dropped his gaze. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “Thanks.” He looked back up at Tony, but when he smiled, Tony found that it didn’t quite reach Peter’s eyes. “I’ll…see you later?”

Tony nodded. Peter gave Morgan another quick hug and started to make his way towards the door. Before he opened it, though, Tony called, “Peter.”

Peter turned around. “Yeah?”

Tony leaned against the island. “You’ll be fine.”

Peter smiled again. Again, that smile yet not. “Night, Tony.”

And then he left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, comments/kudos are always appreciated!


	9. NINE

Peter’s job was fine. He liked his co-workers. He liked the lab. He even liked Harry Osborn, who greeted Peter with a handshake and an elfish smile. Harry couldn’t have been that much older than Peter—rumor was out that he was only twenty-seven, which set him and Peter at a four-year age difference.

“Peter Parker,” Harry had said, giving Peter’s hand a tight squeeze. “I’ve heard about you.”

“You have?” Peter asked, surprised.

“Sure,” Harry replied. “MIT, right? Started interning for Stark Industries since high school? Heard you were a bit of a whiz kid.” Peter had flushed a little at that, and then, apparently noticing, Harry had given Peter another one of his elfish smiles.

“This isn’t a test,” he said. “I look forward to working with you.”

Peter had stumbled out a response that vaguely sounded like, “me too” before Harry moved on to the next set of researchers.

But Harry seemed genuinely nice. Despite the fact that he was the new CEO of Stark Industries, Harry made a point of greeting everyone throughout the day. Peter had already run into him at least ten times in the last week, and each time, Harry had seemed just as amiable as the last time. Peter vaguely wanted to like Harry for all that—but he had to admit, there was something strange about walking past the CEO’s office and seeing someone other than Pepper Potts sitting at the desk.

Now, Peter shuffled over the reports on his desk with the same restless energy that seemed to unnerve Peter these days. Things had overall been good. Last weekend, Morgan finally convinced Tony to join Peter and her in the lake. That had been fun. It had been nice seeing Tony relax. He was smiling more these days, and as the sun set over the lake, Peter had turned to Tony and wished he could have taken a picture because he looked happier than he had been in the last few months, with the sun coloring him golden and the water droplets beading his hair like diamonds.

But then Tony had turned to Peter with his trademark half-smile, half-smirk, and the evening had lapsed into one of splashing battles and additional cannonballs from the trees by the lake. Later, when they finally hauled themselves out of the lake, Tony had tousled Peter’s hair with a towel, causing it to stick on end. (Morgan wound up taking a picture of _that_ , despite Peter’s protests).

That had been nice, though.

Real nice.

Ned and May had noticed, too. May had commented first, when they had dinner together the other night. “You look happier,” she commented. “Like there’s a weight off your shoulders.” Peter hadn’t known how much of that had been factual, but he had smiled down at his plate and changed the subject to May’s upcoming business trip to California.

But then later, Ned had asked Peter if something happened, and when Peter convinced Ned that nothing was going on, Ned had stared at Peter for a long while before saying, “You seem…lighter. Glow-y?” And then a sly smile had spread across Ned’s face, followed by, “Are you seeing anyone?”

“What? _No_ ,” Peter had replied. “ _No_.”

“Is it your boss?” Ned had pressed. “Do you have a _crush_?”

“ _No_ ,” Peter had insisted, trying to stifle his own laugh. “Harry’s great, but he’s my _boss_. Also, not my type. Also, no. Have I said no yet?”

Of course, Ned hadn’t exactly believed him, but Peter wasn’t particularly worried. Ned could make his guesses, and Peter could continue going along whatever was going on.

Peter finished transcribing one of the reports at his desk and glanced down at his phone. Speaking of, one text message from Ned, asking about whether or not they need to get a new rug. _Whatever you want_ , Peter texted back and pocketing his phone, he returned to the next report. Numbers and diagrams floated before his eyes, and Peter briefly wondered if maybe he had some spider genes that would make him capable of speeding through all of this (before dismissing that if such an ability existed, he probably would have discovered it in high school), when someone cleared a throat behind him.

“Just a second,” Peter said, typing up one more note before spinning around.

And found himself looking up at Tony.

“Tony,” Peter said, surprised. Although he realized, a moment too late, that he shouldn’t be too surprised. Even though Harry was the new CEO, of course Tony could still come to Stark Tower whenever he liked. “What…” He took in Tony’s suit. It was a little odd, considering that Peter had mostly seen Tony wearing jeans and t-shirts and sweaters over the last few months, but that was when Peter registered again that of course, Tony had to look somewhat professional whenever he visited.

“What’s up?” Peter said at last.

“Just in for a meeting with our new CEO,” Tony replied. He nodded down at Peter’s desk. “Working away?”

Peter glanced down at the reports. “Just some paperwork stuff.”

“Sounds terrible. Decidedly so,” Tony said. He picked up one of the reports, flipped through the pages, then plopped it back down on the desk. “Lunch later?”

“I—what?”

“Lunch later,” Tony replied. He narrowed his eyes at Peter. “You stay here for any longer, and you’ll look like one of those sickly British boys in period dramas. Not a very good look.” He glanced down at his watch. “In about an hour?”

“Um—” Peter looked down at the stack of reports. Sure, he could get them done in an hour. “Yeah.”

“Great,” Tony said. Then, turning around, he added, “Nice lab coat, by the way.”

Peter smiled to himself as he turned back around to his computer.

\--

Tony was waiting in the lobby. A few star-struck entry-levels like Peter walked by Tony, each of them either taking a moment to stare or just braving a short greeting before scurrying out the doors for their lunch break. When Peter reached him, Tony let out a sigh of relief.

“For a second, I thought you were another of my adoring fans,” he said.

“Disappointed?” Peter asked, barely suppressing a smile.

“Absolutely,” Tony replied. He jerked his head to the doors. “C’mon. No more sad pale British boy looks.”

“I’m not _that_ pale,” Peter protested, but he followed Tony out the doors. There were a few clouds in the sky—the large white-grey kind that blocked the sun every few seconds. Peter vaguely remembered seeing that there would be rain showers later this afternoon, though he wasn’t sure if that would mean within the next hour or within the next thirty minutes. Still, if Tony noticed the clouds, he didn’t seem bothered by them.

“There’s a good sandwich place nearby,” Tony mused. He looked at Peter. “Or are you feeling like something else? Falafel? Tacos?”

Peter smiled. “Sandwiches are fine,” he replied. Sticking his hands in his pockets, he asked, “So how did the meeting go? Or are you not allowed to discuss with—”

“It was fine,” Tony said, waving a hand. “Nothing too important. Just typical check-ins, how-are-yous, make-sure-you-don’t-make-stupid-decision talk.” He gave Peter a sidelong glance. “I go to these meetings purely to let the executives know that I’m still alive and care at least twelve percent more than they think I do.” At Peter’s lifted eyebrows, Tony shrugged. “It is what it is,” he said. “Anyways, Osborn. Harry Osborn. You’ve met him?”

“Yeah,” Peter said. “He seems okay.” He thought about his first meeting him and added, “He seems to actually want to get to know everyone, which is nice.”

“So you like him?”

Peter paused. “I guess, yeah,” he replied. He looked over at Tony and, in a quieter voice, he added, “I mean, he can’t replace…Pepper, but you know. He’s alright.” At that, Tony’s face softened. “Things are gonna be okay.”

Tony glanced over at Peter. “Yeah, alright,” he said. He squared his shoulders. “So, then. Sandwiches. Got a preference? Go-to order? Don’t tell me it’s just turkey every single day for you, because that’s boring.”

A few minutes later, Peter and Tony were sitting together at an outdoor table with their decidedly non-turkey sandwiches. “So,” Tony said, leaning back against his chair, “how was your last hour of paperwork?”

Peter shrugged. “About as interesting as you’d think it sounds,” he replied. Squishing his sandwich a little under his palm, he added, “I don’t mind it _that_ much, though. It’s mostly stuff that I don’t think need to actually think too hard about.” He took a bite out of his sandwich. “Besides, I only do that stuff sometimes. Everything else is pretty much lab-based.”

“You should just get an intern to do the paperwork,” Tony suggested. “By the way, have you met any interns?”

“Some of them,” Peter replied. There were a few undergrads, all of them carrying the slightly skittish energy that all undergrads possessed. “I think they belong in the other departments, though. So they’re probably filling someone else’s paperwork.”

“Shame,” Tony said.

“It’s not that bad,” Peter said, shrugging again. He nodded at Tony. “And you already mentioned your last hour with Osborn…” He paused. “So you met him in Korea?”

“He was the last interviewee on the list,” Tony replied. He picked up his sandwich, set it back down. “Pretty sure everyone thought that I wasn’t going to choose anyone. But it was either him or someone who couldn’t tell the difference between a screwdriver and a small missile, so I made the call.”

“He’s pretty young,” Peter said, thinking about that impish look on Harry’s face again.

“Twenty-seven,” Tony confirmed. “Six years older than I was when I became CEO. The others weren’t concerned. Intrigued with young blood. Tech, that’s how it all goes. Now, if we were talking about some law firm or banking, then different story.” He shook his head. “Anyways.”

“Anyways,” Peter echoed. “How’re things otherwise? Morgan surviving school?”

“She’s officially decided that she hates her gym teacher,” Tony replied promptly. “But she’s semi-liking school so far. Made some new friends. I haven’t gotten any phone calls from the middle school so far, so _something_ must be going well.” He picked at a corner of the sandwich. “No fights so far, either.”

Peter nodded, feeling a relief that he hadn’t known he had been hoping for until then. “That’s good,” he said, and he scooted the sandwich towards Tony in a wordless attempt to get him to actually eat. Tony looked at him once—a look that Peter decided to interpret as a quiet kind of exasperation. Still, Peter waited until Tony took at least a few bites before resuming the conversation.

“Did Morgan meet Harry?” Peter asked after a while.

“She caught a glimpse of him,” Tony replied. After a beat, he said, “She knows that someone was bound to become the next CEO at some point or another, but I think she was a little…” He huffed out a humorless half-laugh. “Well, seeing another person sitting where _she_ did…”

“And you?” Peter asked quietly. “What about you?”

“It was going to happen sooner or later.” Tony wasn’t looking at him. He was picking at his sandwich again, and Peter wished he hadn’t asked in the first place. “Not gonna lie, I wasn’t the biggest fan seeing all of his stuff moved into her place, but…” He looked back up at Peter. “It was going to happen sooner or later,” he repeated. He lifted up a hand in what Peter knew was an attempt at instilling a casualness that didn’t exist. “You know,” Tony said, his voice so terribly light, “I tried to get her strawberries after one of my…” He gestured again. “It wasn’t pretty. Mostly because she was already justifiably angry, and also because—”

“Strawberries,” Peter nodded. He remembered the allergies.

“That’s right,” Tony said, his lips quirking into a sad attempt at a smile. “She had this spin-y thing. It was hard talking to her with that stupid thing going around and around…” He circled his finger in the air. “Anyways. It’s not in her—his—office anymore. He moved it to a bookshelf instead. He said it was distracting, which is what _I_ said, but she always kept it around her desk just to…” Tony’s voice drifted off. He looked down, blinking once before letting out a soft, “huh”.

For a while, neither of them spoke.

“Tony…” Peter started to say, but Tony shook his head quickly.

“Don’t,” he said. He looked back up at Peter. “Not doing this again. Nope.” He lifted both his hands, leaned back. “See? We’re having a good time. Let’s just have a good time. You didn’t tell me about May. How’s May?”

“She’s going away to California for business soon,” Peter replied, but only to appease Tony for just a second. And when Tony nodded, ready to ask whatever he was going to ask next, Peter said, “I wasn’t kidding about what I said before.”

“Which before?” Tony asked, but the look on his face told Peter what he already knew.

“You don’t have to pretend with me,” Peter said. He searched Tony’s face, and all he could think of was that bedroom, the sinking sun, those shadows across the walls, their legs splayed out on the floor. “Okay?”

Tony shook his head. Pushed out a breath. For a second, Peter wondered if Tony was going to get angry, close off again into that awful silence, but then Tony met Peter’s eyes. “Caught me,” he only said.

 _Always will_ , Peter thought.

“Eat,” was what he said instead, pushing Tony’s sandwich towards him again.

\--

“Did you feel that?” Peter asked as he waited for Tony to step out onto the street. He stretched out his palm, and a moment later, he felt it again—a light, cold drop. He turned his face towards the grey sky, and this time, he felt that same drop—a little harder now—on his forehead. Rain.

“We’re not too far,” Tony said, inspecting the sky too. “Doesn’t look that bad, either.”

Peter nodded. But almost as soon as those words left Tony’s mouth, those first drops of rain started to come down harder, and now Peter could see dark grey splotches appear on the sidewalk. “Um,” Peter said, looking at Tony. “You don’t happen to have an umbrella, do you?”

Tony spread out his arms. “Check me, kid.”

“Okay,” Peter said, shaking his head. “We’ll just walk fast.”

But one block later, Peter found himself practically jogging with Tony as the drizzle turned into a downpour. All around them, pedestrians were scattering either with backpacks or newspapers over their heads, while others clearly more prepared strolled easily under their umbrellas. At least all of those people actually had something to cover their heads—meanwhile, Peter and Tony bolted through the sidewalks like madmen.

And Peter _felt_ a little mad, too—the kind of madness that only came with running through the rain. “Doing okay?” Peter said, not bothering to hide the smile stretching across his own face.

“Speak for yourself,” Tony replied, and a second later, he shouted, “Careful!”

Peter only just got pulled aside by Tony as a car came rounding the crosswalk. Peter slammed back into Tony, blinking the rain out of his eyes as the driver stuck up a middle finger before continuing its way. “Sorry,” Peter said, turning around to Tony.

“Thought you had your spidey sense?” Tony only said, letting go of Peter.

Peter smiled guiltily. “Got a little ahead of myself.”

Tony shook his head. “I swear…” he grumbled, and then the two were running again, but this time, Peter felt Tony’s hand on his back, guiding him under scaffolds and around street corners.

“Almost there!” Peter said over his shoulder.

“Yeah, yeah, keep your eyes ahead!” Tony chided, and Peter dutifully swung his gaze back around. The tower eventually came into view, and with a final stride, the two skidded to a stop under the small roof over the entrance. They were actually laughing now, the rain finally catching up to them.

“I probably should’ve brought an umbrella,” Peter said sheepishly, pushing the wet hair from his face.

“Probably,” Tony agreed, something like a laugh escaping his lips. He was completely soaked too, water dripping down his face. Peter suspected he didn’t look much better, but at least Tony was smiling again, his eyes regaining its shine.

“Sorry you got wet,” Peter said. “Your suit…”

Tony waved his hand. “This isn’t even my favorite. You, on the other hand…” Tony took off his jacket, and even though it was wet on the outside, Peter was surprised to see that it was completely dry on the inside. Of course, Peter figured, it was probably high-quality enough, but then Tony swung the jacket over Peter’s shoulders.

“Wait—” Peter said, attempting to shrug out of Tony’s jacket, “it’s okay—”

“It gets cold in the lab,” Tony said, adjusting the jacket around Peter’s shoulders. His hands were light, quicker than Peter had anticipated.

“What about you?” Peter asked, looking up at Tony.

“Happy’s picking me up,” Tony replied. “So don’t worry about me.” He gave the jacket around Peter’s one final tug. He looked down at Peter, and that was when Peter suddenly became aware of how close they were, how he could feel a warmth all around him now, and it had nothing to do with the jacket.

Peter held his breath. He’d been up close to Tony before. Plenty of life and death situations when they’d crashed into each other when they thought that the world was going to crush them first. Plenty of times in a medical bay or in a hospital room when Peter counted the amount of breaths Tony took before he woke up, plenty of times when Peter figured Tony had done the same. Plenty of times when Peter had thought he had known Tony like the back of his hand.

But this was something different.

Up this close, even with rainwater dripping past the side of Tony’s face, Peter could make out suddenly more details than he had before—Tony’s eyes being lighter than Peter’s, the faintest of freckles caused by the sun and age, the exact curve of his lips as he looked back down at Peter.

And Peter wondered if Tony was thinking the exact same thing. Looking down. Noticing things from this close.

Peter swallowed. “Thanks,” he said at last, his voice hoarse. He vaguely hoped he wasn’t getting sick, but he also knew that his voice wasn’t the way it was because of some cold.

“No problem,” Tony said, and maybe it was because Peter’s head was still slightly ringing from running in the rain, but his voice was so soft that Peter briefly imagined himself resting his forehead against Tony’s shoulder again, like he had before he went off to Korea. Breathing in burning wood and machine oil, feel Tony’s hands push through his curls.

But then Tony was stepping back now, and that intense warmth left with him. “See you later, kid.”

Peter swallowed again. He was surprised at the disappointment that panged in his chest—because there was nothing he should be disappointed about, and _yet_ —

Peter just forced on a smile and waved before disappearing into the revolving doors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, comments/kudos are always appreciated!!


	10. TEN

It was raining harder when Tony got back to the house. He was glad that Peter had managed to get into the tower, and he was more relieved still that he would at least be warmer than he would have been otherwise. Still, Tony paused as he tugged out some new clothes to change into.

He saw the way Peter looked up at him under that roof, had felt the pause. He remembered Peter’s laugh as they bolted through the rain, the wet curls that stuck to Peter’s forehead, and then it was just Peter with that look of surprise as Tony draped his jacket around his shoulders. Tony remembered the way Peter’s eyes widened just a little bit, and Tony remembered something in his chest tightening at how Peter’s face tilted up at him.

Tony blinked, hands still wrapped around his change of clothes. He needed to take a shower first.

\--

The work week passed. Tony found himself glancing down at his phone every few hours to check for texts from Peter. They were sporadic, sometimes sent in the early ungodly hours of the morning, other times late at night. Photos of the kinds of stuff that Peter was doing at the lab. Updates on that May had officially left for California. Ned had bought a rug, but Peter was sure that the rug was actually a mistake because it didn’t look that great.

And Tony found himself pausing before sending back a message each and every time, his fingers hovering just a second longer than they used to before tapping back a response. Every time he did, he saw Peter’s expectant face lifted up towards him again, the slight smile curled over his lips, and then Tony would shove his phone in his pocket and try to distract himself with emails or his garage or something.

But by the time Friday came around, Tony didn’t have to think as much about Peter in the rain because Morgan had come home from school with a fever.

“You should have called,” Tony said, slipping Morgan’s backpack off her shoulders. He kneeled down in front of his daughter and pressing a hand to his forehead, he bit back a curse. “Okay, shower first,” he said, standing up. “And then bed, okay?”

Morgan nodded, her hand automatically curling around Tony’s as the two of them set off down the hallway. Even though she was eleven and therefore had all the bold _I’ve got this_ energy of any typical eleven year old, Morgan still leaned against Tony, uncharacteristically quiet. And even though Morgan knew how to control the shower’s heat, Tony still found himself doing it for her as Morgan went into her room to take out her pajamas. After Morgan had gotten into the bathroom, Tony found himself back in the living room, waiting for Peter to pick up.

“Hey,” Peter said. First ring.

“Morgan’s sick,” Tony said. “So it probably wouldn’t be a good idea for you to come by tonight.”

There was some shuffling in the background, and then the sound of a door closing. “Sorry,” Peter said. “Had to move out of the lab. Morgan’s sick? Is it bad?”

Tony looked towards the bathroom. “She’s got a fever,” Tony replied. “Don’t know if it’s just that or if it’s something else, but either way—you should sit this one out.”

“I can help,” Peter said. It wasn’t a suggestion, but it wasn’t a protest either.

“You don’t have to,” Tony said, but even as the words left his lips, he found that there wasn’t any actual strength in his words.

As though sensing the barriers slipping, Peter replied, “I’ll be there after work.”

Tony pushed his hand up to his face. “There’s gotta be better ways to spend your Friday night.”

Tony could hear Peter’s smile when he replied, “Yeah, so I’m coming over.” Tony knew the exact kind of smile, too—the gentle one, the one that Peter gave over Morgan’s head, the one that Peter gave before leaving the house in the morning or in the evening.

Tony dropped his hand to his side. Then, exhaling, he said, “If you get sick, you’re not allowed to blame me.”

“It’s just a fever, isn’t it?” Peter didn’t give Tony enough time to respond, because then Peter said, “I’ll see you later.” With that, Peter hung up, and Tony stared down at his phone, trying to push down the warmth welling up in his chest.

“Idiot,” Tony only muttered, shoving his phone in his pocket.

\--

Peter came half past five, his arms laden with grocery bags. “Soup,” he explained. “And crackers. Both the saltines and the animal kind.” He lifted his arms with a sheepish look on his face. “Forgot to text if you already had stuff, but…”

“It’s fine,” Tony said, taking one of the bags from Peter. “Thanks.”

“How’s she doing?” Peter asked, following Tony into the kitchen. He looked around, as though expecting to see Morgan crawl out of one of the corners.

“She’s still sleeping,” Tony replied. “We’ll have to wake her up to eat something, though.” He pulled out a can of chicken noodle. “Should probably start heating these up.” He looked up at Peter. “I’m guessing you didn’t eat anything yet?”

When Peter shook his head, Tony opened the refrigerator. Some leftovers, some produce. Eggs, butter, milk. Tony turned back around to Peter, who, after inspecting the fridge, said decidedly, “It’s gonna be a clean the fridge kind of day.”

“Didn’t go grocery shopping,” Tony explained, moving aside as Peter walked around the kitchen island.

“You and the rest of the population of New York,” Peter said, taking out the egg carton. He opened one of the produce drawers, plucked out an onion. Bell peppers. “How’d you feel about fried rice?”

A few minutes later, Tony was handing Peter chopped bits of vegetables while he stirred eggs at the bottom of a large pan. Peter always joked that he wasn’t any good in the kitchen, but every time, Tony found himself wondering how exactly it was that the same kid who had jumped back at a tiny spider could also be comfortable with a stovetop.

Tony remembered the first time Peter had ever cooked in front of him. He was just a college freshman then, back for winter break. Pepper had been away on some business trip, and it had been Tony, Peter, and Morgan. Tony remembered he had been in some fever haze, similar to the one Morgan was probably in now, and that was when Peter had offered to take over dinner. Later, when Tony dumbly asked Peter how he could cook, Peter had smiled almost shyly before explaining that May made sure that he knew how to at least semi-take care of himself in school.

“Besides,” Peter had said defensively, “I’m a fast learner.”

Now, Peter looked over at Tony from the stovetop. “What?” he asked.

Tony hadn’t realized he was staring. “Nothing,” he said, quickly moving for the rice. “You need this yet?”

“In a minute,” Peter said. He looked to the other pan that was also heating up on the stovetop. Leftover chicken, just being heated up. He moved fast, and a second later, Peter nodded for Tony to dump in the rice. By the time Peter was finished, the smell of oil had intensified in the kitchen, causing a sleepy-eyed Morgan to pad into the room.

“What’re you guys doing?” Morgan asked, and though her voice was heavy with drowsiness, she still pulled herself up onto a stool.

“Cooking,” Peter replied first. He turned to Morgan. “How’re you doing? Heard you were sick.”

“I’m fine,” Morgan said, but Tony still walked around the island. He felt her forehead, found that it was still uncomfortably warm.

“You hungry?” Tony asked, and Morgan shook her head.

“You should still eat something,” Tony said. “Peter brought soup. You could have some of the rice if you’re up for it.” But Morgan shook her head again, and with that, Peter slid a bowl of soup towards Morgan’s way, a mix of saltine and animal crackers siting on a side plate. At that, Morgan at least smiled, and the three of them all sat together around the kitchen island, taking turns keeping up conversation.

Eventually, Morgan stomached down the rest of her soup, leaving behind only a few crackers in her midst.

“Don’t go to bed right away,” Tony said, moving the empty bowl into the sink. “Sit a while to digest first.”

Morgan nodded and dutifully walked into the living room. When Tony looked again, she had curled up on the couch, toying with the edges of her constellation blanket. When Tony turned back around, Peter was already turning on the sink. Peter lifted his eyes up to Tony, then flicked his gaze towards Morgan with a sympathetic smile.

Tony took that smile and craning his neck over to Morgan, called, “Do you wanna play cards or something after we’re done?”

At that, Morgan perked up a little, which Tony took as a good sign. “We’ll be done in a few minutes,” he said, and with that, both Peter and he resumed their dishwashing. It was a natural process this time, more natural than it had felt in a long time. Peter washing, Tony drying. The whole process didn’t take too long—why would it, with the three of them—and then Tony made his way to the living room.

Morgan already had a deck of cards in her hands. “Uno,” she declared when Tony and Peter sat down in front of her. “No jump rule, though.”

“You know you screamed at me the last time we played Uno,” Peter commented as Morgan handed out the cards.

“You have to go easy on me because I’m sick,” Morgan replied matter-of-factly. “If you’re going to use your plus four card, you have to deal it to Daddy, ‘kay?”

Ignoring Tony’s protest, Peter replied, “Deal.”

Tony feigned exasperation, but he was glad that Morgan at least had the energy to keep up the playfulness. They played a round of Uno, which Morgan won. And then Peter won the next one, and they played another round so Tony could win, but then Morgan wound up winning that round again. It got darker outside, and when Tony glanced at the clock, it was nearing nine thirty, and Morgan’s face had started to pale again, the only spots of color in her cheeks.

“Okay,” Tony said, putting down the cards. “Time to go to bed.”

“I’m okay,” Morgan protested, but her heart wasn’t in it.

“Come on,” Tony said, standing up. “You’ll feel better in the morning if you sleep now.” He lifted his hand to Morgan, and without arguing, she took it. Then, before leaving the living room, Morgan stopped and turned around.

“Are you staying, Peter?” Morgan asked, her voice small.

Tony looked at Peter, half-expecting him to say no, that he had to go back to his place, but Peter nodded. “Right here,” he said, standing up. He looked at Tony. “I can get a compress.”

Tony found himself nodding back, and only when Peter disappeared down the other hallway did Morgan tug for Tony’s attention again.

“I’m glad Peter’s staying,” Morgan said as she slid into bed. “He hasn’t stayed in a while.”

“He’s just busy,” Tony replied, bringing the covers over Morgan. He crouched down by Morgan’s bedside. “Plus, he’s got all this boring adult stuff to do.”

“Don’t you do adult stuff?” Morgan asked, her voice solemn but sleepy.

“Yeah, but Peter does more of the boring adult stuff,” Tony replied. He smoothed out Morgan’s hair, grateful that Peter had already gone to get the compress. “How’re you feeling?” he asked for what felt like the hundredth time in the day. “Rating one to ten, one being no pain and ten feeling like hell.”

Morgan twisted her face. “Five,” she said decidedly. She shifted a little under Tony’s hand. “Like, bad, but not as bad as in school.” She stuck out her bottom lip. “Everything’s worse in school.”

“That’s how it goes,” Tony agreed.

“That’s how what goes?”

Tony turned around as Peter walked into the room, holding up a cooling compress. He crouched down by Tony and pressing the compress to Morgan’s forehead, he asked, “How does that feel?”

“Better,” Morgan said, sinking a little under the compress. Yawning, she said, “Daddy and I were talking about school.”

“She’s feeling better than she was when she was in class,” Tony told Peter.

“Makes sense,” Peter said, leaning back on his heels. “Schools are basically petri dishes. It gets worse in college.” He patted Morgan’s bed. “But you’ll be fine tomorrow morning.”

“Uh-huh,” Morgan said sleepily. “Gotta be, because tomorrow’s Saturday, and I don’t wanna be sick on a Saturday.”

“That’s right,” Peter agreed with such seriousness that Tony felt a surge of gratefulness that Peter had come after all.

\--

Morgan fell asleep, leaving Peter and Tony to sneak out. “Everyone gets sick at the beginning of the school year,” Peter commented as they reached the living room. “It’s like an obligation for every single student.”

“And it’s middle school,” Tony added, shaking his head. “Twice as many students.” He leaned back against the couch. “What about you? Any germs spreading in the workplace?”

Peter shook his head. “We’ve been lucky,” he said. “Staying dry and warm and hygienic.” Then, suddenly standing up, Peter said, “That reminds me—gotta get something. Just give me a second.” Before Tony could respond, Peter vanished out the front door. And, as he promised, Peter came back in a few minutes, carrying a garment bag.

“Your jacket,” Peter said, handing it to Tony. “Took it to dry cleaning and everything. You might have to double check, but I think they did an okay job.” He smiled. “Thanks, by the way. I would have returned it sooner, but—”

“It’s fine,” Tony said, taking the jacket. “Wouldn’t have minded if you kept it for longer.”

“Yeah, well,” Peter said, shoving his hands in his pockets. “It’s yours.” He sat down next to Tony, and Tony caught the faintest scent of citrus again. Peter. Tony wondered briefly if his jacket would wind up smelling like Peter, but then he dismissed the thought because of course, Peter had just said that he had brought the jacket to the dry cleaner’s.

“How’re you doing?” Tony asked at last.

“Fine,” Peter replied. “We’re getting some more developments done for the BARF project. And Harry mentioned something about a new project on the books.”

Tony blinked. “Harry?” he asked.

Peter looked at Tony and then, realizing what he just said, Peter added, “I mean Osborn, sorry.” At Tony’s lifted eyebrows, Peter shrugged. “I call him Mr. Osborn, but whenever I say that, he gets super defensive and tells everyone to call him Harry.” Peter shrugged again. “Like I said, the guy tries to be nice to everyone.”

“Must be,” Tony said, turning back around.

After a beat, Peter asked, “What about you? How was your week?”

“Uneventful,” Tony replied. “Signed some permission slips for Morgan—”

He never got to finish because just then, there was a high-pitched cry coming from down the hallway. Both Tony and Peter sat up straight. “Morgan,” Tony only said, and he went down the hallway without another word. He felt Peter at his back, and despite his initial surprise at Peter’s mentioning Harry Osborn, Tony slipped back into relief that Peter was right with him.

“Morgan?” Tony said quietly, pushing open the door.

The cooling compress had slipped off Morgan’s forehead, and she was thrashing in her bed, her legs kicking back the covers. Her eyes were squeezed shut, her face pink with both fever and exertion. Tony automatically moved forward, heart pounding in his chest, and then Morgan’s eyes snapped open.

“Daddy?” Morgan asked, her voice cracking.

“Yeah,” Tony said, kneeling down by Morgan. “Right here, sweetie.”

Morgan’s bottom lip wobbled. “I thought—” She sat up straight, and without another warning, she buried her head into Tony’s shoulder, sharp sobs shaking her whole body. Tony instantly felt tears wet his shoulder, but he didn’t care, not as he placed his hands on Morgan’s too-warm back.

“Morgan,” he said quietly, rubbing circles in the space between Morgan’s shoulder blades. “I’m right here.” He felt Morgan trembling right in his arms, felt her harsh breaths as she gulped for air. “It’s okay,” Tony said. “You’re okay.”

“I thought you were gone, too,” Morgan whispered, clinging onto Tony’s shirt, and Tony’s heart sank.

“No,” Tony said, holding onto Morgan tight. “Never.”

He felt someone move around him, and when Tony lifted his eyes, it was Peter. He picked up the abandoned cooling compress and, nodding at Tony, slipped out of the room to bring in a new one.

All the while, Tony kept rubbing circles into Morgan’s back until she fell back asleep.

\--

When Tony changed his shirt and came back to Morgan’s room, he found that Peter was dragging in sleeping bags. “What’re you doing?” he asked, standing in the doorway.

Peter looked up. “In case Morgan gets a nightmare again,” he replied, his voice low so as to not wake up Morgan. “Is that okay?”

Tony’s throat tightened. Peter looked tired, too. He hadn’t even changed his clothes yet—he was still in the pair of jeans and t-shirt he was wearing when he came in. But still, he held onto Tony’s gaze with the quiet determination that he knew so well.

“Yeah, kid,” Tony said, swallowing hard. He stepped into the room. “That’s okay.” He sat down on the sleeping bag across from Peter. “You know, you’ve still got some clothes in your dresser. They’re washed and everything.” He nodded at the door. “You should change into something more comfortable.” Peter hesitated, and then Tony said, “ _Peter_. Go change.”

Peter nodded, and a minute later, he returned, changed in sweat pants and a different t-shirt. He slid into the sleeping bag next to Tony.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, comments/kudos are highly appreciated!!


	11. ELEVEN

Peter thought Tony had fallen asleep when he slid into the sleeping bag, but only a few moments later, Tony said, “Morgan likes to pretend that everything’s fine, too.”

Peter turned. Tony’s eyes were open, staring up at the ceiling. “Learned from the best,” Tony said. He was quiet, his voice nothing but a soft murmur in the otherwise silent room. “She tries hard, though. Puts on the brave face, and sometimes I wonder if…” His voice drifted, unsettled.

Peter rolled himself just slightly onto his side so he could look at Tony better. “You wonder if what?” he whispered.

Tony let out a deep breath through his nose. “Things got ugly after Pepper died,” he said flatly. “I’m not going to argue around that. _I_ was—” He cut himself off. “Morgan’s not an idiot. She knew that there was _something_ going on.”

Peter couldn’t bring himself to say anything because he knew it was true, too. Morgan had her own share of bad days—tantrums, random fights with her classmates, bouts of sullenness and silence. As far as Peter knew, Tony had been good at hiding _his_ bad days, at least in front of Morgan. But even then, Tony had acted more as machine than man. Peter once got a call from Rhodey telling him to just stay in school and focus on his thesis for the weekend because Tony had buried himself too deep in the garage. “Trust me, kid,” Rhodey had said. “You don’t wanna see this.”

Peter found out later that Morgan had been taken out on a little girl’s trip with Natasha and Wanda that weekend, too, and when Peter came over the weekend after, he found that the dark circles under Tony’s eyes had at least lightened a little bit. (And Rhodey suddenly became more intense on getting Tony to sleep, which was a relief.)

But even with Morgan away, Peter wondered how much she was able to gage from her father’s friends. Peter knew that Natasha could play up any role she wanted, but he had a hard time thinking that Morgan would be completely blind to the real reason why she was whisked away.

“She’s just a kid,” Tony said. He craned his neck up at the bed, as though he could see Morgan even from the foot of her bed. “She doesn’t need to keep up that act.” His face was pained. Guilty.

“Neither did you,” Peter said. He rolled over completely on his side now, his eyes meeting Tony’s. “You guys are figuring this out, remember? Together?” He shifted on his back, letting his gaze drift up to the ceiling. Morgan had stuck some glow-in-the-dark stars and planets on the ceiling a long time ago, but they still glowed brightly. Peter made out what was probably Morgan’s attempt to create the Big Dipper on her ceiling. “Don’t blame yourself,” he whispered. “That’s what I’m saying. Because Morgan doesn’t.”

There was a silence, and for a second, Peter thought that Tony had drifted off to sleep, but then Tony whispered, “What about you?”

Peter turned sharply to Tony.

Tony was looking right back at him, eyes dark and serious, jaw set. Waiting. Bracing.

“Do you even need to ask?” Peter asked. When Tony didn’t respond, Peter clarified, “I don’t blame you for anything. For all of it.” He paused. “Even if you didn’t talk to me for, like, a few weeks.”

Tony winced. “I was an asshole.”

“Maybe,” Peter agreed, and after Tony gave him a wounded look, he added hurriedly, “But I still don’t blame you. I was…pretending that things were fine too.” He lowered his gaze. “I could have done better. To help.”

At that, Tony huffed out an exasperated half-sigh, half-groan. “You’re literally sleeping on the floor instead of in your own bed. Don’t tell me you’re not doing enough to help.”

“I just do that because I want to, though,” Peter argued. “Everything I did before—that was just because I _wanted_ to.”

“So to help,” Tony said.

“ _No_ ,” Peter said, and then, when Morgan stirred, Peter lowered his voice. “Sorry,” he said quietly. “I mean—no, it wasn’t just to help. It was just because…” He grasped for the words, tried to cling onto them before they slipped through his fingers. Letting out a frustrated sound, Peter said, “It’s just because it’s Morgan and _you_.” When Tony didn’t say anything, Peter continued, his voice lowering, “It was just… _you_. I didn’t do it to help or anything. I just did it because…” He shrugged. The movement felt weird on his side, but he didn’t care. “You would have done the same thing for me,” he finished lamely, and those words felt lame because that didn’t even cover half of what Peter actually wanted to say, but that was the closest he could think of to what he meant right now.

He looked up at Tony. “Do you get what I’m saying?”

He was so close to Tony. Almost as close as he had been earlier that week, in the rain. Peter remembered that distinct rings of light around Tony’s pupils then. He could still see them now.

“Yeah,” Tony said at last. “I know.”

The two of them stayed like that, facing each other. They were so close. If Peter just wriggled his hand free of the sleeping bag, he could reach up and touch Tony’s cheek. Peter could just imagine Tony’s cheek under his hand, the bristles of his beard, the slightly weathered surface. That was how close they were. Almost as though they were sleeping side-by-side, which, Peter figured, was probably true, save for the borders of their sleeping bags.

Peter suddenly thought of how he had fallen asleep to Tony’s breathing a few weeks ago—that felt like an eternity now—with Tony in Korea, Peter in New York. That had almost been like they were sleeping side-by-side, too.

But Tony was actually here beside him.

Peter swallowed. “It’s late,” he finally said, rolling over on his back. But he still felt Tony’s eyes on him, could still feel his own hand itching to reach up for Tony’s face, just to make sure of—

Of what?

Peter felt heat prickle up his face, and he was glad that it was dark. He closed his eyes, forced his breathing to even out so he could sleep.

Eventually, Peter felt Tony roll on his back, too, and eventually, Tony’s breathing became deeper and deeper until he was completely asleep. And Peter turned just briefly, found Tony under the dim glow of the moonlight shining through Morgan’s blinded windows.

Peter fell asleep.

\--

Peter woke up to daylight filtering from Morgan’s windows. Peter opened his eyes, blinking a few times to adjust to the brightness. His whole body was stiff, and Peter slowly rotated his wrists and ankles, wincing at the slight pop. This was what sleeping on the floor got him, even in the sleeping bags.

Peter turned, wondering if Tony was awake too—but found that he was still sleeping. Tony had rolled over in his sleep during the night, and Peter found himself looking at Tony’s face—or, at least, the half that wasn’t buried into the pillow.

Peter knew he could probably wake Tony up, but a stronger part of him just wanted to let Tony sleep. All the tension was gone from Tony’s face, which Peter supposed was natural. He had seen Tony sleep _before_.

Just not this close.

Peter heard the click of a camera, and then he jerked back around to see Morgan hovering at the foot of her bed, Tony’s phone in hand. “Morning,” she said cheerfully. “Why didn’t your spidey sense pick up on me?”

“I was distracted,” Peter said, feeling a familiar warmth at the back of his neck. Beside him, he felt Tony stir, and then there was the low moan of someone rudely awoken from sleep.

“Morning, Daddy,” Morgan chirped. “I snuck up on Peter.”

“Did you now?” Tony asked sleepily. Propping himself up on his elbows, he asked, “Does that mean you’re feeling better?”

“Yup,” Morgan said, jumping down from her bed.

“C’mere, then,” Tony said, and Morgan walked up to Tony’s already waiting hand. “Seems like your fever’s gone down,” Tony said, dropping his hand back down to his side. “We’ll still make sure you go to bed early tonight though, okay?” When Morgan gave an enthusiastic nod, Tony asked, “Are you hungry?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Morgan said. Her face was bright, clear of whatever had terrified her last night. Peter wondered if Morgan remembered last night at all either, or if everything had faded like—well, like a bad dream.

“Well, that’s a good sign,” Tony said, throwing Peter a relieved look. Peter found himself smiling back, but heat still lingered at the back of his neck. Then Tony was looking back at Morgan, who was saying something about frozen waffles. Peter watched as Tony mussed Morgan’s already messy bedhead hair, saw the fond smile reappear on Tony’s face, and then he remembered last night, how they had whispered with heads slightly bent together, Peter so close to Tony—

“You coming?”

Peter cleared his throat, kicking off the sleeping bag covers. “Yeah,” he said, looking up at Tony and Morgan. “Frozen waffles sound great.”

A few minutes later, Peter found himself getting plates around Tony, who was rattling the frozen waffles out of the cardboard box. The back of Tony’s hair was sticking up a little, and Peter wondered if it’d be weird for him to try to tamp it down with a quick brush of his hand, but then Tony turned around with a smirk.

“Awake?” he asked, waving a waffle in Peter’s face.

Peter blinked. “Not really,” he said with a weak laugh. He quickly maneuvered himself to the plates and set them on the kitchen island. Morgan sat across from him, her chin resting on folded hands.

“Your face looks funny,” Morgan noted.

“What?” Peter asked. “No it doesn’t.”

“Yeah it does,” Morgan replied. She leaned in across the island, her eyebrows furrowing together. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Peter said quickly, but then he felt Tony at his side again.

“Heard something about Peter looking funny?” Tony said.

“It’s nothing,” Peter said. “I’m fine.” The toaster oven let out a soft _ding_ , much to Peter’s relief. And then he wondered why he would feel relieved, because he _was_ fine, and there _was_ nothing wrong. At all. Clearing his throat again, Peter moved past Tony to get out the waffles. He slid them onto the plates and scooting them to Tony and Morgan, he asked, “So what’s on the agenda for the day?”

“I have homework,” Morgan said, jutting out her bottom lip. “I have to finish _reading_ _and_ do a worksheet.” She swiped for the syrup and drowning her waffles with the stuff, she added dramatically, “I _hate_ having homework on the weekends.”

At that, Peter couldn’t help but at least smile. He could barely remember when he _didn’t_ have some kind of assignment or studying to do over the weekends, but he decided to keep that information to himself for now. “Math?” he asked, cutting into his waffle.

“Yup,” Morgan said glumly.

“I could help if you want,” Peter offered.

“It’s okay,” Morgan replied. She stabbed at her waffle. “It’s easy, just boring.” And after breakfast, Morgan dragged her ‘easy but boring’ homework back to the kitchen island, all the while grumbling as she worked through problems. Peter only caught a quick glimpse of Morgan’s homework—some geometry stuff, and at that, Peter could at least feel some sympathy, because he hadn’t particularly enjoyed geometry units, either.

Even though Morgan had said she didn’t need any help, Peter found himself sitting at the kitchen island with her anyways, this time with his laptop opened in front of him. As he worked through lab reports, Morgan occasionally craned her neck over to look at what he was going through. Peter would humor Morgan by answering a few questions before re-directing her to do her homework.

Eventually, Tony came out with his laptop too, and then the three of them were working around the island together, fingers tapping on keyboards and pencils scratching across paper. Every once in a while, Peter would lift his eyes over his laptop to look at Tony sitting across from him, but Tony was almost always just working.

Once, though, Peter looked up in time for Tony to look up, too, and when Tony smiled, Peter forced his gaze back down on his laptop.

They worked together like that for some time before Peter’s phone started ringing.

“Probably Ned,” Peter said, but when he lifted his phone, it was an unknown number. Still, he lifted his phone to his ear. “Hello?”

“Peter Parker,” came a cheerful voice on the other end. “Hope I’m not interrupting your weekend.”

Peter blinked. “Who is this?” he asked. At that, Tony looked up from his laptop, his brows knitting together.

“Ah, sorry. I figured you’d recognize my voice, but I know phones can garble sounds sometimes. It’s Harry. Harry Osborn.”

Peter started. “Mr. Osborn?”

“ _Harry_ ,” Harry corrected. “Mr. Osborn makes me feel like I’m an old man.”

“I—sorry,” Peter said. He pushed himself off the kitchen island, aware of both Tony and Morgan watching him now. “Is there something wrong?”

“Not at all,” Harry replied. “I hear you’re doing excellent work in the labs so far, Peter. Congratulations.”

Peter flushed. “It’s really nothing,” he said. “I’m only doing some of the work.”

“Yes, but we all know that you make valuable contributions,” Harry replied with a small laugh. “I know it’s a Saturday, Peter, but I’m calling to tell you about a potential research opportunity. You’re aware of the project that I’m heading right now, aren’t you?”

Peter adjusted his grip on his phone. “Vaguely…?”

“Well, after reading some of the reports on how you’ve been doing, I think you’d make an excellent addition to the research team for this new project,” Harry said. “You can still work on whatever initial project you’re helping with, but I think you’ll find great interest in what I’m working on.”

Peter looked over at Tony, who lifted his eyebrows. Peter shrugged and said, “That sounds…interesting.” He turned back around. “But I don’t really know if—”

“Just think about it,” Harry said. “Come to my office on Monday. Let me pitch you the actual idea.”

“Monday,” Peter repeated. “Um—I guess. Yeah. Sure.”

“Great,” Harry said. “Have a nice weekend, Peter.”

“Thanks,” Peter said, and he was about to exchange the pleasantry when his phone beeped. Harry had already hung up. Lowering his phone from his ear, he turned back around to Tony and Morgan. “Harry,” he said. “He…wants me for something. The project he wants to start soon, I think.” He lifted his shoulders. “Told him I’d meet with him on Monday.” He paused. “More like he told me, but he wants to give me more details then.”

“You thinking about taking up his offer?” Tony asked neutrally.

Peter shrugged. “Probably not,” he replied. “I’d rather focus on whatever SI started right now.”

At that, Tony nodded, but when Peter looked again, he found that a corner of Tony’s lips was already moving into a semi-smile, and Peter felt something warm in his chest, even though he didn’t know why. “Anyways,” Peter said, walking back to the island, “back to work.”

\--

The day passed quickly. After lunch, Peter and Morgan followed Tony into the garage, where he showed Peter some new ideas for his next suit. Morgan wandered from workbench to workbench, alternating between chatting with FRIDAY and opening up the holographic blueprints. After some wheedling, Tony even let Morgan have a try at a pair of boots, which she used to hover in the air before dinner.

Dinner was quick and quiet, too, and eventually, Morgan fell asleep watching cartoons. As Tony guided her back to her bedroom, Peter took up the dishwashing. He was just washing the last dish when Tony came back into the kitchen.

“She’ll be completely better tomorrow morning,” Tony said as Peter opened his mouth to ask. “She’s knocked out. In a good way.”

“That’s good,” Peter agreed. He nodded at the stack of plates next to the sink. “That’s all done, by the way.”

As Tony set the dishes back into the cupboards, he said, “So…Harry Osborn.”

“Yeah?” Peter rubbed water over the plate he was working on.

“Be honest—were you considering his offer at all?”

Peter shot Tony a quizzical look. “No,” he said. He turned back around to the dish. “I’m being honest. Harry’s nice, but I’m happy at what I’m working with right now.” When he looked back at Tony, he found that there wasn’t the same smile that there had been earlier that day. Peter turned off the tap, turned to Tony fully in the face. “Honestly.”

“I just wanted to make sure,” Tony said, setting the last plate back in the cupboard. “I don’t want you to feel like you _have_ to—”

“I don’t _have_ to do anything,” Peter replied. He turned the tap back on again, picked up the water nozzle. He sprinkled some Tony’s way, causing Tony to startle. Peter smiled. “I _want_ to stay,” he said. “Okay?” He sprayed some more water in Tony’s direction.

“Hey,” Tony protested, batting the water away, “you’re going to create a mess with that thing.”

“But do you know?” Peter asked, spraying water again. He grinned, stepping closer to Tony with the nozzle. 

“ _Peter_ ,” Tony said, and then faster than Peter could process, he grabbed the nozzle from Peter’s hand and sprayed back. “A- _ha_ —how’d you like that?”

“Okay, okay, fine,” Peter said, raising his arms to shield himself from the spray. “I got it!”

“Nope,” Tony said, and when Peter looked, he found that Tony was smiling now, too. “This is revenge.”

“ _Okay_ ,” Peter cried, and he blindly reached for the nozzle, but instead found himself wrapping his hand around Tony’s wrist. Close enough, Peter decided, reaching for the nozzle, but Tony held fast, twisting the nozzle back in Peter’s face.

“ _Stop it_ ,” Peter protested, but he couldn’t keep himself from laughing, and Tony was laughing, too. Still, Tony turned off the nozzle. “Finally,” Peter said in mock relief, but he still looked up at Tony, made sure that they were on the same page. After a beat, he said, “You get my point now though, right?”

“I guess I have to,” Tony replied. He nodded at the nozzle. “Didn’t see that coming, though.”

Peter’s lips quirked into a smile. “You were surprised.”

“Caught me,” Tony replied. He looked down at Peter’s hand, and Peter did too, and then he found that his hand was still wrapped around Tony’s wrist.

“Sorry,” Peter said, and he moved his hand away. He started to drop it back down to his side, but at the last second, he grabbed the nozzle. He meant to give Tony one last spray, just for the small rush of it, but Tony caught onto his movement a second sooner, and then it was Tony grabbing Peter’s wrist, and then the two were laughing, Peter fake struggling out of Tony’s grip, Tony guiding the nozzle out of Peter’s hand.

Peter lifted his eyes up at Tony. He was smiling, water flecked across his face from the last time Peter had got him. Peter imagined he looked the same, and then his mind was jumping to another time when they were both soaked in water, this time standing outside a building, still laughing and high on the adrenaline of running with reckless abandon.

They were so close.

And then their laughter slowly died until all that there was left were their breaths, mingling together as Tony kept his hand wrapped around Peter’s wrist, and then it was just Peter looking up at Tony, and Tony looking down at Peter, and then Peter was thinking about those rings of light around Tony’s eyes, thinking about how he had wanted to put his hand to Tony’s face last night, and then—

Peter wasn’t sure who moved first. All he knew was that Tony’s hands were so warm, one still holding onto his wrist and the other in his hand, and then Tony was leaning in, and Peter was tilting his face up, and then all he felt were warm lips on his.

 _Oh_ , Peter thought, dazed as he leaned back against the sink. So _this_ was what he waiting for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...so ya'll have any thoughts? ;) 
> 
> Kudos/comments are always appreciated!


	12. TWELVE

Wrong. Everything was all wrong. He shouldn’t be leaning into Peter like _this_ , letting his hands roam into Peter’s hair like _this_ , kissing Peter like _this_ , and _this_ , and _this_ …feeling Peter’s lips press back against him, not out of struggle or surprise, but out of eagerness, hunger. Like he had been waiting for this, like this was inevitable.

That was the thought that forced Tony to stop.

“Wait,” Tony breathed, tearing himself away. “This—” He shook his head. “This is a bad idea.”

“Totally,” Peter said, and then he was dragging Tony back in, hand pushing up to the back of Tony’s neck, the other hand tugging at the hem of Tony’s shirt. Not to pull it up, but to keep pulling him in, and for a dizzying, wonderful, terrible second, Tony let himself get lost, felt himself kissing back again, felt Peter’s lips trail from his lips to his neck and then back again, and Tony shivered because _God_ , this was _Peter_ —

 _Stop_ , Tony thought.

 _Don’t stop_ , Tony thought.

_This is Peter._

_This is_ Peter _._

“No,” Tony said at last, yanking himself away. His head spun, his breaths came out hard and harsh, as though he had just been running—which, in some way, maybe he had, because that’s how he felt. He looked at Peter, bathed in the light of the sink. He tried to ignore how Peter’s curls were sticking on the ends where Tony had just been running his fingers through them, tried to ignore how Peter’s lips were already kiss-swollen from where Tony had just been.

“What’s wrong?” Peter asked, and there it was, that soft, hurt voice. “Did I—”

“It’s not you,” Tony said, pushing his hand up to his face. “I—” He shook his head, let his hand drop to his side. “I shouldn’t have done that. That was out of line. _God_.” He shook his head again, looked at Peter. Registered the hurt still in Peter’s eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

“You don’t have anything to be sorry about,” Peter said slowly. He took a step towards Tony, and Tony stepped back, just hitting the kitchen island. “Tony,” Peter said, wounded. “I kissed you _back_.”

“You shouldn’t have,” Tony said, looking away because he knew what Peter would look like. Knew the pain that was probably etching itself into Peter’s face right now.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Tony couldn’t help it. He looked back at Peter. His eyebrows were furrowed together, confusion mixed in with the pain. “Do I have to say it?” Tony asked.

“Say _what_?” Peter asked.

Tony closed his eyes. “Peter…”

“No, I wanna know,” Peter said.

Tony’s head hurt. He thought about how his lips had just been pressed against Peter’s, the heat and the breaths and—it had been all so _wrong_ , but when Tony re-opened his eyes, a part of him just wanted to drag Peter in again, slam him onto the kitchen island and just—

God. He needed to stop.

He should have stopped.

“I’m twice your age, for one thing,” Tony said, leaning back against the kitchen island, as though that could stop the images flickering across Tony’s head. _God_. As Peter opened his mouth, he added, “And I have a kid. And um, I don’t know—I’ve known you since you were a _kid_.”

“I’m twenty-three now,” Peter argued. “Not a kid.”

“Do you think that matters?” Tony asked sharply. He stood up straight against the counter. “Do you really think that detracts from everything that’s…” He gestured at Peter, hated how Peter’s face hardened. “Everything that’s _wrong_ with this?”

“I kissed you _back_ ,” Peter repeated, as though that would solve the argument. “I wanted to.”

“Please, Peter,” Tony said, shaking his head. “Don’t do this.”

“Why?” Peter asked, his tone sharpening with Tony’s now. “You _felt_ it, didn’t you?” He searched Tony’s face, and Tony both wanted to throw something and just lean back into Peter. “You kissed me _first_ , too.”

“And that was my _mistake_ ,” Tony said loudly.

At that, Peter stopped short. Tony felt a mix of both satisfaction and dread. “It was my mistake,” Tony repeated. “I shouldn’t have done it. This wasn’t…” He shook his head again. “I’m sorry,” he said again.

Peter fell back against the sink, and Tony wished his mind wasn’t already wandering back to how they had just been there a few minutes ago, Peter’s hands wandering up to him. He wished he could just get that stupid image out of his head, wished the pain in his chest away as Peter blinked rapidly, as though Tony had just punched him in the face.

“Okay,” Peter said. Surrendered. “If that’s how you feel.” He pushed himself off the sink, and for a second Tony thought (hoped) that Peter was going to walk towards him again, but no, Peter walked around the kitchen island as though Tony wasn’t even there. Tony let his head drop against his chest as he heard the door swing open.

When the door closed, Tony finally turned around. He half-expected Peter to still be at the door, half-expected Peter to turn around and come marching back into the kitchen, demand that they _fix_ this, but Peter was gone.

Tony swallowed. He dropped himself down on a stool, let his head sink into his waiting hands. His chest tightened, his head swam with the replay of those last few seconds. Tony found himself moving his fingers towards his lips, found that they were still warm and swollen from Peter. Tony closed his eyes.

He shouldn’t have done it.

His mind swirled with so many reasons—twice his age, knew Peter since he was in high school, had Morgan—oh, God, _Morgan_ , who had been so scared at the possibility of Tony replacing Pepper, and _Pepper_. A strangled sound ripped out of Tony’s lips before he could stop himself. He brought his forehead down on the island, heaving. _Pepper_ , who Tony loved and molded into without a second thought. Pepper, who was dead and gone, and Tony had _mourned_ , _God_ , he had _mourned_ , and then he had been kissing Peter like a lovesick fool who couldn’t get enough because that was just it—he _couldn’t get enough_ of Peter, Peter with his warm eyes and his sweet smiles and his curls and his artist’s hands and his _lips_ which had been _everywhere_.

“Daddy?”

Tony jerked up his head. Morgan was standing in the hallway, her brows furrowed. “Did something happen?” she asked.

Tony hoped the lighting was too dim for Morgan to see what he knew was a probably a mess of his face. He wiped a hand over his face, and forcing his voice still, he replied, “’course not, sweetie. Everything okay? Why aren’t you sleeping?”

“I woke up,” Morgan said. She looked around the room. “I thought I heard Peter…” Registering that he wasn’t in the room, she looked back at Tony with doleful eyes. “Did you guys get into a fight?”

“No,” Tony replied quickly, pushing himself away from the island. He remembered the first time, when Morgan had sounded so sad and alone at the idea of Peter and Tony not talking. That had also been the night when Tony had led Peter into his room, Peter leaning heavily against his side—

“Then where is he?” Morgan asked.

“He just had to go back home,” Tony replied, and he knew that was a shitty answer, and he knew Morgan was too old and too smart for a shitty answer, but he couldn’t bring himself to think of anything else. “Ned probably missed him.”

He waited for Morgan to argue back. Or to even tell him that he was lying. But Morgan only stood in the hallway, her lips pressed together in a thin white line. The expression was so much like Pepper that Tony felt another heart-aching pang in his chest.

“Okay,” Morgan said at last. She walked over to Tony and, kissing him on the cheek, whispered a quiet good night before walking back to her room.

\--

Sunday passed without a word from Peter.

Tony pulled out his phone a few times, starting text messages and then deleting them because _what could he say?_

\--

Monday morning rolled in without incident. Tony got out of bed, made Morgan and himself breakfast. He wound up driving Morgan to school himself, and the drive started off quiet before Morgan asked, “Is Peter meeting with Mr. Osborn today?”

“Yup,” Tony replied, popping the ‘p’. He hoped it sounded casual enough for Morgan to settle her own worries about Peter and Tony, but the look on her face told Tony otherwise. Trying a different tactic, Tony said, “He’ll probably tell you about it when he comes over on Friday.”

At that, Morgan perked up a little. In truth, Tony had no idea if Peter would be coming on Friday—or if he was going to come again at _all_. Tony figured that Peter probably would. He loved Morgan too much to drop off the face of the planet like that. But as for _Tony_ …

For now, Tony met Morgan’s eyes in the mirror. “That sounds exciting, right?”

“It’s just work stuff,” Morgan said, but there was a brightness in her voice now, causing Tony to just barely resist the oncoming sigh of relief. After seeing Morgan disappear safely into the school, Tony tugged out his phone. Still no messages from Peter. His meeting would be starting soon.

 _Ready for the meeting?_ Tony texted. There. Not cold, not overly friendly. Casual. Curious. Normal.

Tony waited one minute, then two. No reply.

With that, Tony started for the drive back home, and then his phone started ringing.

At first, Tony’s heart leapt—actually _leapt_.

 _Peter_ , Tony thought, but then he looked at the ID.

“Morning, Rhodey,” Tony said, swallowing back his disappointment. Which was idiotic, because he had no reason to ever be disappointed in getting a call from Rhodey, whose schedule was about as hectic as a president of the country (and practically planet) could be. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Heard Harry Osborn’s the new CEO,” came Rhodey’s response. “What’s up with that? Good morning, by the way.”

Everyone was talking about Harry Osborn today. “You’re only getting this news now?” Tony asked lightly, pushing down on the gas pedal. He sped past a couple that was arguing in their car. “It’s been a few weeks now. Are you slipping up?”

“Not funny,” Rhodey said. “Things here have just been a little busy since we figured out that there were oh, I don’t know, a whole _other_ group of humanoids floating around in space?”

“Has that been official information yet?” Tony asked. “Because that hasn’t gotten down to the main news channels. Sure you’ve got it handled, though. You and all of the new buddies, right? How’s Carol holding up? She was on New Asgard last you checked in with her, right?”

“She’s still there,” Rhodey replied. “And we’re getting off-topic.”

“Are we now?” Tony asked, and he couldn’t help but at least feel the briefest flicker of a smile. Good old Rhodey. Even when everything was total shit, at least there was always Rhodey.

“Don’t you know about Harry’s dad?” Rhodey asked. “I mean, come _on_ , Tony, we were there when the news hit—”

“Correction,” Tony said, pulling up the driveway to his house, “ _we_ were trying to cram for our final exams when the news about Norman Osborn’s abuse of his research hit the news.” He paused. “What exactly was he doing again?”

“That information was never discovered,” Rhodey said. “Probably because Norman trashed it all before he got pulled out.” He paused. “So you _do_ realize the risk in having Harry Osborn as Stark Industry’s next CEO, right? I’m hearing this right?”

Tony stopped the car, transferred the call back to his phone. “The kid hasn’t been in contact with his father for basically his whole life,” he said, stepping into the house. “And it was either him or someone who was _completely_ incompetent, so—” He stopped short to find Rhodey already leaning against the kitchen island.

“Intruder,” Tony deadpanned, turning off his phone. “Not fair.”

“Change the place where you keep the spare key,” Rhodey shot back, pocketing his phone. “Seriously, Tony, you could have chosen someone else.”

“Well, I happen not to be prejudiced of someone else’s family history, so,” Tony said, letting his car keys fall onto the kitchen island as he brushed past Rhodey. “You want anything? Soda? Water? Coffee? Or are you staying for longer?”

“I’m only here for a little bit,” Rhodey replied as Tony slid a glass of water his way. “And also, don’t tell me that you seriously chose Harry because you thought he was like you. Because he’s not like you, Tony. _You’re_ you.”

“Aw, don’t—you’re melting my heart,” Tony said, pulling up a stool. At Rhodey’s exasperated look, Tony lifted his hands. “I get it. You’re telling me to be careful. That’s warranted. Absolutely warranted. But if there’s anything off about this Harry Osborn guy, then you know we’ll take care of it.”

“Yeah, but it should be _taken care of_ before anything _happens_ ,” Rhodey said.

“I’ve met the kid a few times,” Tony said. He stole a sip of water from Rhodey’s glass, ignoring the eye-roll Rhodey gave him. “He didn’t exactly radiate _I’m-a-madman-just-like-my-father_ vibes, if you get the gist of what I’m saying.”

“ _Tony_ ,” Rhodey said, snatching back the water. “Can you stop joking for a minute?”

“Sixty seconds on the clock,” Tony said dryly.

“ _Tony_ ,” Rhodey repeated. He sighed, dropping his forearms on the island. Looking at Tony, he asked, “What’s going on?”

“Nothing’s going on,” Tony replied. “We are decidedly in the nothing-is-going-on zone.” He reached for Rhodey’s water again, but Rhodey took the glass away.

“I’m being serious,” Rhodey said.

“So am I.” Tony puffed out a sigh. “I’m fine, Rhodey. Nothing’s going on. I just don’t see the point in setting up Harry Osborn for trial over something his dad did.” He shrugged. “And I still pull all the strings for Stark Industries, alright? So I won’t let anything get out of control.”

Rhodey opened his mouth to say something, but then he just shook his head. “I hate trying to argue with you,” was all he said, taking a sip of water. Setting the glass on the island, he pressed his hands on the surface. “Alright, then. What else? How’s everything else?”

\--

After Rhodey rocketed off, Tony found himself in the garage. He pulled up some of the diagrams and blueprints for modifications for Peter’s suit, but then that got him thinking more about Peter, so he put those diagrams and blueprints away. Actually, the whole garage was impossible to be in without thinking about Peter at least a few times. Because Peter had been there so many times—there, leaning against the workbench, or there, falling asleep on the table after one too many late nights.

Tony forced himself to concentrate on a different project instead. Despite the fact that he had been telling Morgan that she would have to wait before she ever got a suit of her own, Tony still tinkered in secret. _Just in case,_ he told himself. He would say that to Pepper too, when she first found the blueprints. After she died, that _just in case_ turned into _when_ instead. _When something bad happens_. _When everything goes to shit._

Tony’s stomach eventually started growling, and on a normal day, he would have just worked straight through it—maybe drink down some coffee, call that a meal, and resume, but then he thought about the look Rhodey had given him earlier. Rhodey would always gang up with Pepper against him, and Tony would always feign being hurt because _dammit, Rhodey, I thought you were_ my _best friend_.

Tony trudged out of the garage. He dug out leftovers, popped them in the microwave, watched the plate spin around inside. Five minutes. Tony couldn’t watch a microwave turn for five minutes. He checked the clock. There would still be another two and a half hours before it was time for him to pick Morgan up from school.

Tony drummed his fingers against the kitchen island. Checked his phone, found that there was a text from Peter.

Tony’s heart leapt again. _Leapt_. Before stopping to think, he swiped at the message, and—

 _yeah_.

Just one word. Terse. Sent nearly an hour ago. Tony must not have heard the notification while he was in the garage. (There was no reason to—Tony had blasted music up at full volume.)

Tony wondered if he should respond. What he would respond with. But then he realized that Peter was either eating lunch or still in the meeting, and he didn’t know if Peter’s phone was on silent. Probably, but Tony imagined Peter looking down at his phone in the middle of the meeting, then looking up at Harry with that stupid apologetic smile that won over everyone in the room.

Tony slid his phone back into his pocket. He searched instead for the TV remote, turning on to some random news channel as the microwave beeped for the prepared food. Tony slid the plate out of the microwave. He dug around for a spoon and only took a few bites before turning to the TV.

He caught ahold of the red banner across the bottom of the screen first, with its bold black letters. Something bad, Tony assumed, and he had taken a few more bites when he looked back up again.

He stood up fast.

“There have already been serious casualties,” the news anchor was saying grimly. “We don’t know what exactly to make of this attack, but as of now, our reporters on the ground are saying that Spider-Man was last seen in what appeared to be heavy battle with this creature.”

The screen transitioned into a shaky video. It was shot from someone’s phone, and even with the volume turned down, Tony couldn’t miss the screams in the background. There was smoke everywhere, torn down trees and upside-down cars, and then, in the midst of the smoke, Tony saw him.

Peter, fully-clad in his Spider-Man suit, launching himself off a building at what looked like a blurry green-grey mass. There were loud tearing sounds from the smoke, and then Tony saw Peter leap from the smoke again, this time straight at whatever that mass was.

Tony was already out the door, calling on his armor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :) 
> 
> As always, comments/kudos are very appreciated!!!


	13. THIRTEEN

Monday was off to a rocky start.

“You sure you’re okay, dude?” Ned asked worriedly as Peter tugged on his shoes. “You still look kinda…off.”

“I’m fine,” Peter replied. He stood up and braced on a smile. “It’s just Monday.”

“Yeah,” Ned said slowly, “except you were basically in your room the _whole day_ yesterday. This isn’t just a case of the Mondays, you know?”

“I’ll be fine,” Peter said. “I was just tired yesterday.”

“Uh-huh,” Ned said in the way that Peter knew was a signal that there was going to be a talk later. “See you later tonight, man.”

“Later,” Peter said, and he walked out of the door. There had been too much truth in Ned’s words—because Peter _had_ basically stayed in his room the entirety of Sunday. He had driven back from Tony’s, and he only just had enough energy to take a shower before collapsing into bed. He had cried a little at first, feeling the worst combination of embarrassment and anger and sadness and _fuck_.

And even despite all that, Peter had gone to bed with his fingers ghosting over his own lips, remembering how Tony had felt against him, remembering the heat of their bodies as Peter pushed himself back against the sink. Peter remembered how _fuck_ , he had actually dragged Tony towards him for the second round because suddenly, all he wanted was more, more, more of him because suddenly, everything made sense. The quiet exchanges. The long phone calls. The whispered conversations in the dark.

And then the kiss.

Kissing MJ had always been gentle, soft. Kissing Tony had been like kissing at the edge of a cliff. Heart pounding too fast and too hard in Peter’s chest, feeling like he could both fall and fly off at any second. _Fuck._

The worst part was that Peter couldn’t even bring himself to tell Ned, not even the next morning when Ned brought in breakfast. Ned didn’t ask, mostly because Peter had pretended to still be sleeping. And when Ned eventually _did_ ask, Peter could only shake his head because how was he supposed to explain to Ned that oh, everything’s fine, just that Peter got kissed by _and proceeded to kiss_ Tony Stark? And liked it? And then proceeded to have Tony push him away and say it was all a mistake?

Peter could already imagine how Ned would react. Eyes would probably bug out first, and then Ned would tread carefully, and Peter wasn’t sure how much energy he had left in him to tread, too.

MJ was completely out of the question too, of course. Peter could just imagine MJ saying, “That was stupid. Bad decision. Stop.” Hell, she’d probably agree with Tony, and not because MJ and Peter used to date.

And of course, May…Peter didn’t even want to think about how May would react. But she was away in California right now, far away from the mess that was happening right now.

Peter somehow dragged himself into work without too much of an issue. He threw himself into the lab work that was waiting for him, and for a little while, he could almost lose himself in the tech. But then he’d do something or see something and think, _Tony would be excited about this_ , and then Peter would feel as though someone had kicked him in the chest because he could suddenly see Tony standing in front of him again, feel Tony pressing against him.

To make matters worse, Tony had sent him a text message earlier today. _Ready for the meeting?_

That was all. Tentative. Short. As though nothing had happened.

Peter didn’t respond right away. He couldn’t. He started to write back, then deleted his message. Then he started again, and then he was pressing the delete button again because he had nothing to say. He settled for _yeah_.

Peter was almost relieved when it was time for him to meet Harry. At least it was just another thing to distract him from what happened on Saturday.

But even Harry seemed to pick up on Peter’s mood because the first thing he said when Peter walked into his office was, “Bad day?”

“What?” Peter blinked. At Harry’s sympathetic smile, he quickly shook his head. “No—nothing like that. Just um…” He couldn’t even find the words. Peter opted for waving his hand instead. “It’s nothing. What did you want to talk to me about?”

“Have a seat,” Harry said, nodding to the chair in front of his desk.

Peter obliged, plopping himself down in the seat. Harry sat down in time with him and, lacing his fingers together, gave Peter a smile. “How are you?” he asked.

“Fine,” Peter replied politely. “And you?”

“Also fine,” Harry replied. “But my day might just get a little better once you hear me out on what I’ve got in store.”

Straight to the point, then. Peter tried his best to look curious, but the strength didn’t come to him quite as easily as it usually would. “Yeah?” he asked, hoping that the single word would at least give the impression of excitement—or, at the very least, neutral interest.

“We live in an uncertain world,” Harry said, leaning back a little in his chair. “That’s been established a long time ago. There were the aliens right in this city, and then Ultron, and then half the world disappears before being returned five years later.” He examined Peter, but Peter wasn’t sure what reaction he was supposed to give. He settled for a nod.

“Well,” Harry said, “I’ve been thinking for some time now. Stark Industries has made a goal to protect and to help people over the last decade or so—but what if we took that up a notch?” He pushed himself away from his desk, stood up.

“What do you mean?” Peter asked.

Harry smiled. “Enhancements,” he said.

Peter’s heart jumped. “Enhancements?” he repeated uncertainly.

“Don’t look so surprised,” Harry said. “You know science has been moving this way for a long time now. Think Captain America.” He let out a small laugh. “We didn’t just find a random person strong enough to beat through Nazis, did we?” He held out his hand, ticking off names as he went. “We have that Scarlet Witch woman—what with her…” He gestured. “Telekinetic powers. And then there’s Hulk, and of course, New York’s own Spider-Man.”

Peter hoped he didn’t look as nervous as he felt. Resting his hands over his knees, he asked, “So?”

“ _So_ ,” Harry said, leaning against his desk, “I want to give everyone else a fair shot.” He lifted his eyes up to Peter. They were an interesting color—green, but with just the barest tinges of blue. “Do you catch my drift?”

Peter blinked. Looked away from Harry. “You want to…enhance normal people,” Peter said. A sour taste came into Peter’s mouth. “I mean, normal people seem to be doing okay right now.” He tapped his fingers against his knees, then stopped. “The government and the police do a lot—”

“Did the government and police help when half the population vanished into dust?” Harry snorted. “Everyone was scrambling around for some kind of explanation, and no one knew what to do. All we _did_ know was that the bad guys won, and the rest of the world had to suffer the consequences.”

Peter frowned. “But the bad guys didn’t win,” he said slowly. “Everyone’s back now.”

“But what happened when everyone came back?” Harry asked. “People suddenly with nowhere to go because new families had moved into their homes. Relationships broken, businesses toppled down, politics gone to hell.” He shook his head. “The only way to prevent something like this from happening again is to get it right the _first_ time.”

Peter forced a laugh. “Sounds like you should just contact the Avengers,” he said, but his voice sounded weak even to his own ears.

“The Avengers?” Harry sounded disappointed. “The superheroes?” He shook his head. “Come on, Peter—I thought someone as bright as you would _get_ this by now.” He sat back down at his desk. “You were one of the people who got brought back, weren’t you?”

Peter’s brow furrowed. “How did you—”

“It’s easy to find out, don’t worry,” Harry replied, waving his hand. “But how was that for you?”

Peter’s hands clenched and unclenched themselves. He remembered finding out that May and he had been kicked out of their old apartment. They were crammed into a much smaller place, and it wasn’t that bad, not really—Peter knew some of his old classmates had it much worse. But still, it had hurt. Just a bit. And then he had checked online that so many of his old classmates had already gone off to college and gotten married and had kids and had actual _lives_ …

“See?” Harry asked quietly. “It’s not easy.”

Peter lifted his head. Harry had a sympathetic—but expectant—smile on his face now, and Peter had the feeling Harry was waiting for an answer that Peter knew he wasn’t going to give.

“It’s not,” Peter agreed slowly, and for a moment, Harry’s eyes lit up, and Peter was almost sorry for what he was going to say next. “But I won’t do it. Sorry.” He stood up. Harry did, too. “Maybe we should try harder to get things right the first time,” Peter said, “but I’m not about to look up ways to…enhance people.” He shrugged. “Not everyone wants to be enhanced,” he said, thinking about his own confusion when he first got his powers. How Peter had stumbled and staggered along, confused. He hadn’t known Wanda when she got her powers, but he heard enough stories. And of course, Bruce had his own fair share of secrets that he didn’t divulge in until Peter was in college.

Harry’s smile faded. “I see,” he said. Then, squaring his shoulders, he said, “It was worth a shot.” He extended a hand. “Thanks for meeting me, Peter.”

Peter shook Harry’s hand.

He could still feel Harry watching him as he walked out of his office.

\--

There weren’t any messages from Tony when Peter got back to his desk. Not that there should have been. Not that Peter was expecting any. Because that was just silly at this point.

(Still, Peter found himself checking his phone every ten minutes. Just in case.)

\--

Peter was walking out of the building when he felt the ground rumble beneath his feet. He frowned. He looked around if anyone else had noticed the irregularity, but the pedestrians continued walking with their usual easy bustle. Peter paused and there—he felt the ground rumble again, this time a little louder. But again, no one noticed.

Peter registered what was about to happen just a bare second before one of the pedestrians did.

“Watch out!” Peter shouted, and he grabbed a young man out of the way just as a car came crashing down to the ground. The man beside Peter screamed, scrambling further back into the sidewalk as another car came crashing down. Peter let go of the man, watching him bolt for the streets with the rest of the civilians who, now noticing the rubble, were finally getting the hint to _run_.

That was when Peter heard a low cackling sound above him.

When he saw who it was coming from, his heart almost stopped.

It was something straight out of comic books and science fiction movies. Peter registered a green face with pointed ears and a hooked nose. Two beady black eyes hid under the thing’s mop of grey hair, surveying the streets with a sinister energy. It wasn’t wearing much more than tattered rags, and through the bare clothes, Peter could make out large muscles rippled with brutal looking scars. But if the scars bothered the thing at all, it didn’t show it. It was gigantic, maybe only a little smaller than Hulk as it swayed at the top of a skyscraper, one of its arms holding it up at the edge of the roof.

Peter’s stomach tightened. He had no idea what that thing _was_.

But as the thing started to climb down from the skyscraper, Peter already knew what he had to do. He bolted back into the building, relieved (in some sick way) that almost everyone’s attention had been turned to the window. He slipped towards his locker and in just minutes, he swung himself out the window, fully clad in his suit.

“Hey, ugly!” Peter shouted, swinging close to the creature. “I think you’re in the wrong neighborhood!” He shot out a length of webbing aimed at the creature’s wrists, hoping to keep it from moving any more, but the creature only bared its teeth into what Peter figured was supposed to be a smile as it dodged the webbing.

“I’m exactly where I need to be,” the thing said, and if Peter hadn’t already heard aliens speak already, he would have toppled out of the air in surprise. “I’ve been waiting a while for this, Spider-Man.”

At that, cold dread flooded Peter’s veins. At this point, he supposed he shouldn’t be surprised that people knew who Spider-Man was—saving the world once and saving the city a few times over would probably warrant some new celebrity status, but still, looking at the ghastly thing staring up at Peter as he whizzed around the buildings, he felt more chilled than he had in a long time.

It didn’t help that Peter had no idea what this _thing_ was, either. Its skin reminded Peter of something between a cross of a lizard and an alligator, all smooth and shiny in some parts and rough and scaly in others. The green-grey color wasn’t exactly helping Peter with identification matters, either.

“Come now,” the thing said, crawling up its skyscraper. Peter stopped on an adjacent roof, warily taking in how the creature’s claws dug into the surface of the building. “It’s rude to keep someone waiting.”

“Waiting for what?” Peter asked, and almost as soon as those words left his mouth, the thing tore its hand through the building. There was the great shattering of windows upon windows upon windows, and Peter watched in horror as the creature tugged out a cluster of wriggling men and women.

“Catch,” the thing crowed, and Peter’s heart plummeted as the thing let go of his victims. Launching himself off the building, Peter let out strings of webs as the people screamed below him.

Heart pounding, Peter managed to catch all of the men and women before they could hit the pavement. They dangled just a few inches off the sidewalk, their backs held up by the webbing Peter had shot out. Letting out a small sigh of relief, Peter looked back up at the thing. He had enough of this thing already.

As though sensing Peter’s frustration, the thing smiled.

“Well?” the thing asked, and Peter sped up the side of the building the thing was crouched on. He let webs fly, having them encircle the creature’s ankles to keep him in place. Peter didn’t have a lot of time. “Karen,” he called, whizzing around the skyscraper and entangling the creature with more webbing, “activate Protocol God of Thunder.” That protocol had been developed as a result of a joke Peter had made with Tony about how cool it would be to somehow combine his own powers with Thor’s. Tony had laughed at that, too.

 _Not right now_ , Peter thought, gritting his teeth. Tony wasn’t allowed to interrupt his thoughts right now. _Not allowed._

Peter instead concentrated on the sudden buzz and crackle of electricity flooding from his webs to the creature on the building. He was pleased to hear a sharp cry of pain— _it was working_ , Peter only just thought before he suddenly felt himself being dragged towards the building.

Peter looked to see that the thing, despite wriggling in the electricity, had somehow _grabbed_ ahold of the webs that connected Peter to it. _Uh-oh_ , Peter realized a second too late, and then a clawed hand was digging into his ribs, his stomach. Peter heard a strangled sound—a terrible, wet sound that Peter registered was coming from _him_.

Through the haze of pain, Peter made out the thing’s ugly grin. The pain intensified, and Peter was dimly aware of the grip the thing had on him was growing tighter. “Pathetic,” the thing snarled. “I thought you’d put up more of a fight.”

 _Me too,_ Peter thought before he felt a sudden cooling sensation in his side. The dots from Peter’s vision faded, but not by too much. His head spun maybe a degree less than it had been just a second ago.

“Peter, your vitals are weak,” came Karen’s voice after. “I have done the best I can to minimize any lasting damage. It is still recommended that you get medical aid right away—”

“Yeah, I got that,” Peter groaned. Then, bowing his head down at the creature, he said, “You’re gonna have to try a little harder than that.” With one last burst of energy, he shot webbing into the creature’s eyes. There was a loud roar from below him, and then the grip on Peter released, and then Peter found himself falling, falling, falling…

Peter felt something move beneath him—a sharp wind, a burst of heat. Peter wondered if that thing had landed on the ground before him and was just waiting to snatch him up again, and a part of Peter urged him to keep fighting, but the pain was returning again, and Peter could barely keep his eyes open, and the whole world seemed to be spinning anyways, so what was the point?

But then he thudded against something warm and weirdly familiar, and then he heard someone say, “You’re good, you’re good, you’re good…”

Peter blearily opened his eyes. He only made out a flash of red and gold before sinking under.

\--

Peter’s entire body hurt. His head, his chest, his ribs. He opened his eyes once. He was in a bed. There were two people standing at the foot of the bed—a little girl who looked like she was on the verge of tears, a man with dark eyes that widened when Peter looked at him.

“Peter,” the man said, but Peter was already falling back into the darkness.

\--

The second time Peter opened his eyes, it was only the man in the room. The little girl had gone. The man was in a chair at Peter’s bedside, sleeping with his head propped up on a curled-up fist. Peter could see the dark half-moons under the man’s eyes, and for a second, he felt a flash of pain that had nothing to do with the soreness in his body.

“Tony,” Peter whispered, but the man didn’t hear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, comments/kudos are greatly appreciated!


	14. FOURTEEN

It was two days before Peter finally woke up.

Two days of Tony pacing the floors, checking vitals, and masking his own panic as Morgan joined him in the pacing and checking vitals routine. As soon as Tony had caught Peter after that _thing_ vanished, he had gotten him straight to the Compound to address the worst of Peter’s injuries. Tony had hoped that Peter would wake up right away—or, at least, by the end of the day, but he didn’t. He only opened his eyes once, and for a second, Tony had thought that this would be it, things would be better, but then Peter had gone back to sleep.

Tony managed to move Peter to the house, though. He tried calling Peter’s aunt, but then he got sent straight to voicemail. He called Peter’s friends, who, after seeing the news, were relieved to find out that Peter was at least safe now.

Tony was just wondering if he should try calling May again when he heard a soft groan from the bed beside him.

“Peter?” Tony called, jerking straight up in his seat. Although she had been sleeping just a moment ago, Morgan perked up from her chair, too. Wide-eyed, she made her way to the other side of Peter’s bed, her lips slightly parted in surprise. Tony tried again. “Peter?”

Peter’s eyes cracked open, and for a second, Tony was afraid that he would close his eyes again, but then Peter mumbled, “Everything hurts.”

Tony felt a lump rise in his throat. He swallowed around it quickly. “You took a pretty rough hit,” he managed to say. “Wouldn’t be surprised if everything did.”

Peter squeezed his eyes shut for a moment and then, popping them back open, he said raggedly, “That _thing_ …” He started to sit up, but before he could, both Tony and Morgan were rushing to Peter’s side, forcing him back into the bed.

“Morgan, get Peter’s phone,” Tony said. “Call May.”

Morgan nodded and, shooting Peter a worried look, ran out of the room.

Peter let out a shaky breath. “What happened?”

Tony looked down at Peter. His face had regained some of its color, but Peter wasn’t looking at him. Not that Tony expected him to. But still—it stung. More than Tony thought it would. Which was a new feeling. “That thing you were fighting disappeared after it went down,” Tony said, his voice sounding oddly disconnected to his ears. “No one knows what exactly it was, but some of the news people are starting to pin it down as a goblin.”

Peter’s face twisted into a grimace. Still not looking at Tony. “Probably the closest description…” he murmured. “How long was I…?”

“Two days,” Tony replied quietly.

Peter’s face fell. “ _Two days_ ,” he repeated. “God, _May_ —”

As though on cue, Morgan ran into the room, Peter’s phone in hand. “May’s picked up,” she said, handing it over to Peter.

“Thanks,” Peter said, giving Morgan the barest trace of a smile, and Tony couldn’t help but feel some relief at that, especially when Morgan smiled back. Things hadn’t completely gone to shit.

“Hey, May,” Peter said into the phone. “Yeah, I’m okay.” Peter paused, and then, quietly, “Sorry that I worried you. I’m fine. Honestly.” Another pause. “Actually, no, this sucks, but I’ll get better.” Tony felt like he should be walking out of the room, leaving Peter to it with his aunt, but at the same time, selfishly, Tony couldn’t bring himself to leave the bedside. Not with Peter finally awake.

He had been so still when Tony brought him back. So cold.

“Love you,” Peter said now, and he hung up. He leaned back against the pillows, and glancing at Tony only quickly, he said, “May’s already coming back over from California.”

“That’s good,” Tony replied.

“Yeah,” Peter said. He cleared his throat, looking down at his phone. Pointedly not looking at Tony again. “You were the one who got me out of there.”

Something panged at Tony’s chest. _Look at me_ , he thought.

“I was,” Tony replied.

There was a beat of silence. “Thanks,” Peter said shortly. Stiffly.

And Tony wanted to say that _of course, he was going to run and rescue Peter because that’s just what he fucking_ did _, because he was fucking_ worried _, and he was fucking_ scared _that Peter fucking Parker was actually going to_ die _on him_ —but he didn’t say any of that.

“Any time,” Tony replied, just as shortly. Just as stiffly.

Morgan looked up at them, her eyebrows knitting together. There was a brief silence, and then, standing up, she asked slowly, “Do you want me to charge your phone, Peter?” Not waiting for his answer, Morgan picked up the phone and walked out of the room, her head slightly lowered. She closed the door behind herself with a soft click.

The silence stretched between Tony and Peter—painful, taut, cold. Peter looked tired, alone in his bed. His face was still turned away from Tony, but he could still see the bruises that faintly colored one of Peter’s cheeks. The bruises around Peter’s neck. The ugly bruises and gashes and scars that Tony knew he would find under Peter’s shirt.

Peter looked so tired.

“I’m—”

“ _Don’t_ ,” Peter said sharply.

“Say what?” 

“I—” Peter looked down at his hands. Artist hands, Tony thought. “I know what you’re going to say. And I don’t want to hear it.” He closed his eyes, and, his voice painfully soft, Peter said, “Just…don’t say you’re sorry.” He didn’t have to explain what he was referring to.

“I wasn’t going to say that,” Tony said. “I was…I’m sorry that I didn’t get to you sooner.” He thought of how still Peter had been in his arms again. “You’re good,” Tony had kept repeating to Peter, as though by repeating that, Peter would actually stay awake—actually be good. Super healing was a blessing, but Peter’s face had been so _pale_ , and he wasn’t responding—and then when Tony had gotten Peter to the Compound, everything had been a blur of panic and just _get Peter safe, get Peter fixed please_ , because Tony wasn’t sure what he would do if Peter _wasn’t_ —

“Wait—Tony, hey.”

A warm hand wrapped itself around Tony’s wrist, and Tony jerked his head up to find Peter’s eyes scanning his face. “Hey,” Peter said quietly, lifting Tony’s hand. It was shaking. “I’m okay.”

“You have no idea,” Tony said, swallowing. “You have _no idea_ how _scared_ I was that you—” He released a shuddery breath. “I would come for you every time you’re in danger, Pete. You have to know that.” _Please know that_.

Peter didn’t say anything for a second, and Tony worried if he had said the wrong thing, wrong time—but then Peter moved his hand over Tony’s, gave it a small squeeze. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “I know.”

And for a moment, they were together like that, Peter’s hand still wrapped around Tony’s. Artist hands, Tony thought again. His eyes drifted down to Peter’s fingers laced in between Tony’s, the way they seemed to fit directly around his. How many times had they worked together like this?

Peter’s eyes flitted up to Tony’s face. “I’m okay,” he repeated softly. Reassuringly. He gently tugged at Tony’s hand so that it was getting pulled towards Peter. It was a small movement, but Tony found himself getting dragged into Peter’s strength, found himself willfully letting Peter take control as he lifted Tony’s knuckles to his lips.

Peter’s lips brushed over them lightly. Still gently, still softly, and then Tony’s head was spinning because a part of him whispered for this to stop, that this was all wrong, but Peter’s lips were warm and familiar, even though they were on Tony’s knuckles instead of his own lips.

“Peter,” Tony started to say, but when Peter lifted his eyes to meet his, Tony couldn’t remember what he was going to say next. All that he knew was that Peter looked was here, and he was alive, and they were together.

“Fuck it,” Tony whispered, and he clashed his lips against Peter’s.

It wasn’t like last time.

This time was more taking, more urgent, as though they only had seconds left, because for all Tony knew, maybe they really _did_ have seconds left before reason would try to talk him out of this again.

Tony didn’t want to be talked out of. Not now.

Tony’s hand crept up to the back of Peter’s head, his fingers getting tangled in his curls as Peter wrapped his arms around Tony’s neck, bringing him in deeper, and all Tony could think was that he wanted _more_ , just more of Peter, because he was here, and they were doing _this_ , and this was all that mattered right now—

“Fuck it,” Peter agreed against Tony’s lips.

\--

Peter ended up staying for another night.

\--

After reassuring her that Peter would still be here after she came back, Morgan finally agreed to go to school. She was happier, too, after noticing that Peter and Tony were talking again. Or more than talking. Smiling. Laughing.

But even then…

Every one-second-too-long look at Peter felt like a betrayal. Tony heard Morgan’s quiet voice, saw her sad, serious face in the car on the ride back to their house after helping Peter with his apartment. Don’t forget Mommy. Don’t forget Pepper.

Tony wasn’t. He _couldn’t_.

And then there was everything else that came with kissing Peter Parker. The fact that Tony was old enough to be his _dad_. The fact that Tony knew Peter since he was a kid. (God, he still called Peter _kid_ sometimes, which sent an ugly, twisting feeling down Tony’s stomach.) The fact that Morgan looked at Peter like he was her big brother.

But Peter was standing in front of Tony in the living room right now, his hair wet from the shower, sweatpants slightly sagging over his hips, and all Tony could think about was how it should be illegal for Peter to look so casually _good_ like that.

“I swear I’m okay,” Peter was saying into the phone. “Yeah, no, I’ll be back soon. Just resting and recuperating. Tony’s not letting me out.” He looked over at Tony with a shy smile, and Tony didn’t know whether to kiss him again or not. But then Peter was turning away again, and this time, Tony saw the bruises still mottled over Peter’s neck, the ones that traced down to his shoulders. Super healing had taken care of Peter’s ribs, but it was always the skin where things lasted a little longer.

When Peter hung up the phone, Tony tried to school his expression into one of complete neutrality, but Peter had already caught onto him. “What’re you thinking about?” Peter asked, flopping down on the couch next to Tony.

“I’m thinking that you shouldn’t look this happy after getting beaten to the pulp,” Tony replied.

“I think I’ve got a pretty good reason to be happy,” Peter said, giving Tony a sidelong smile, and a part of Tony delighted in those words, and then Tony found himself circling back to why this had to be all wrong again.

Peter’s smile faded. “What’s wrong?” he asked, turning completely over to Tony.

“What are _you_ thinking about? With this?” Tony gestured between the two of them. “What do you think this is? Because I don’t know.”

“Great,” Peter said, leaning into a couch cushion, “because I don’t know, either.”

“I’m being serious,” Tony said. “Hard to believe, I know, but I am.”

“I am, too,” Peter replied.

“Okay,” Tony said, nodding. “Good.”

Peter nodded back. “Good,” he repeated, and a corner of his lips were already starting to twitch upwards, and Tony— _again—_ felt something warm in his own chest, but—

“I’ve known you since you were a teenager,” Tony said, and the words taste bitter in his mouth, but he kept going. “Doesn’t that disturb you at all?”

At that, Peter paused.

 _Good_ , Tony thought.

“I mean…” Peter’s voice drifted. “I had a crush on you before, you know. Before I met you and stuff.” His cheeks pinked. “It got a little different when we started doing the whole saving the world thing,” he said quickly, avoiding Tony’s gaze. “Obviously. But I mean…” He cleared his throat. “I don’t know,” he said at last. “But I’m twenty-three now. I’m not a naïve kid. You’re not a creep, if that’s what you’re thinking. Because I know what _I’m_ doing.”

“You’re like Morgan’s big brother,” Tony argued. “And you just got out of school.”

Peter frowned. “Are you trying to tell me to stop?” he asked.

“I—no,” Tony said, pushing his hands up to his face. “No— _no_.” He let out a long breath, looked back up at Peter. At the warm eyes, the lips that Tony found himself thinking about even now. _God_. “Just…” Tony swallowed. “Tell me. For real.” He halfheartedly lifted up his hands. “If _this_ is real. Or if this is some pity…thing.” His chest ached even thinking about that. “Because if it is—”

“How can you even say that?” Peter interrupted. “I don’t—that’s not—” Peter groaned, pushing one side of his face into the couch cushion, and the gesture was interestingly both endearing and frustrating because Tony wanted to do the same exact thing. Peter lifted his face out of the couch cushion. “ _Tony_ ,” Peter started, and then he pushed the couch cushion out of the way so that there was nothing sitting between Tony and Peter. “I kissed you back because I wanted to.”

“And I don’t even know if that was a good thing, either,” Tony said.

“So then what _would_ be a good thing?” Peter asked.

Tony couldn’t find an answer. He wouldn’t have been able to find one anyways, not with Peter looking at him so intently like that. “You’ve got a big heart,” he said at last. “You do everything you can to help people. I don’t want you to think that kissing me back is something that…” He gestured. “Just another thing you can do to help—”

“That’s not why I kissed you back,” Peter said urgently. He took Tony’s hands, and Tony wondered if he should pull away, but he kept his hands in Peter’s, savored the warm touch. “I don’t kiss people just because I want to help them.”

Tony bowed his head. “Peter,” he murmured. “You know this…”

“This what?” Peter asked.

Tony looked up. “This is dangerous territory.”

Peter swallowed. “I know,” he said. He leaned forward, rested his forehead on Tony’s shoulder. “But is it bad that I don’t mind?”

 _Yes_ , Tony thought.

But he didn’t want this to end either, whatever this was.

He wanted to stay in the living room like this, Peter’s head on his shoulder, hands clasped together. Still. Warm. Breathing Peter in. Feeling him safe. Feeling him. This.

 _This_ would either end in flames or paradise.

\--

Peter and Tony stayed on the couch for the whole day. Peter drifted in and out of sleep, and eventually, he settled his head onto Tony’s lap. Before falling asleep, Peter had looked up at Tony. “Is this okay?” he had whispered.

Tony had nodded, and then Peter had fallen asleep like it was the easiest thing in the world. Tony alternated between looking through the news and looking down at Peter, at the slight part in his lips as he breathed in, breathed out.

Tony woke up Peter eventually so that they could eat lunch, and then straight afterwards, they returned to the couch.

“Is this okay?” Tony asked as they settled back down.

“More than okay,” Peter replied, and he lifted his head from Tony’s shoulder to meet his eyes. “Are you okay?”

Tony nodded.

Peter smiled. “Okay,” he said, and he was just about to settle his head back down on Tony’s shoulder when the television lit up with a call.

At that, Peter rocketed off Tony’s shoulder, and when Tony glanced over at him, their eyes caught in a silent agreement. Tony accepted the call.

Steve and Natasha’s worried faces filled the screen—well, Steve worried, Natasha with only the faintest wrinkle in between her eyebrows. When registering that Peter was in the room, both their faces smoothed out. “Told you Tony would take care of it,” Natasha said, patting Steve’s shoulder.

“Told me I’d take care of what?” Tony asked, although he had a feeling of what his friends would say.

“We saw the alerts,” Steve said. “You hear what they’re calling that thing in New York?”

Tony glanced over at Peter, who looked just as clueless as he felt.

“Haven’t exactly been caught up,” Peter said, looking back at the television screen.

“He’s calling himself Green Goblin,” Natasha said. She snorted. “Real spooky.”

“We saw what happened,” Steve said. “We were worried, and no one was saying anything.”

“We got a little busy,” Tony said, carefully avoiding looking at Peter. “He was out for a while. But he’s doing…better now?” He raised his eyebrows at Peter, who nodded vigorously.

“Just got a few bruises now, Mr. Rogers,” Peter said. “Nothing to worry about. All good.”

“See?” Natasha said, patting Steve’s shoulder again. “He’s all good.” Still, she looked at Peter. “Steve and I are away right now, but we could send someone over.”

Peter surprised Tony by shaking his head. “That won’t be necessary,” he said. “That guy was just lucky the first time.” He smiled, but Tony found himself looking at the ugly bruise on Peter’s neck. “Thanks, though. Appreciate it.”

“If you change your mind…” Steve started, but Peter shook his head again.

“It’s fine,” he said. “I’ve got it.”

After Steve and Natasha ended the call, Tony and Peter let out a breath of relief in unison. They looked at each other again, and even without speaking, Tony knew what they were both thinking. They weren’t about to tell anyone about _this_ yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, comments/kudos are greatly appreciated!


	15. FIFTEEN

Peter’s body still felt sore when he walked back to work, but he wasn’t about to stay missing for any longer. His bruises had already mostly faded, save for the particularly nasty one around his neck, which had now taken on a somewhat ugly green color. So Peter brought a scarf. It would help with his sick day excuse, anyways.

And for the most part, no one really noticed. The others nodded to him before resuming their work, and Peter figured he had flown under the radar. Nothing to worry about, even though Tony had initially argued otherwise.

Tony.

Peter smiled to himself. They’d been careful. That much was agreed on without too much discussion. Peter, skirting around Tony just the right amount, otherwise catching quick glances and the smallest of smiles. When Morgan went to bed, Peter and Tony bounced between the garage and the living room. They did some tinkering, and they had been so casual even in there (except for the tentative touches of Peter’s fingers against Tony’s wrist, the occasional squeeze from Tony’s hand as though to check that Peter was still with him). After both of them could barely keep their eyes opened, Peter and Tony had stumbled back into the house. They had stopped in front of Peter’s bedroom door, and for a second, even in his sleep-dazed head, a part of Peter wondered if this was where they already were, but then Tony just gave Peter the lightest, faintest brush of a kiss before going back to his own room.

And that was enough.

When Peter got back to his apartment, Ned and May were both waiting for him. After re-establishing that _yes_ , Peter was _fine_ , they had both looked at Peter oddly.

“Why’re you so happy?” Ned was the one who asked. “I mean, I’m happy that you _are_ —you look _way_ better than last weekend, but—dude. You just got beat up. _Bad._ What’s up?”

“What happened _last weekend_?” May had asked, and before Ned could answer, Peter had quickly interrupted.

“Dunno,” Peter replied, ignoring the buzz in his pocket that he knew was probably Tony texting if he got home safe. “Just happy to be alive, I guess.”

May and Ned had both given him another strange look, but then Peter suggested that they get take-out, which promptly swerved the conversation elsewhere.

They were being careful.

That was all there was to it.

The shifting and squeaking sounds of chairs scraping back in the lab signaled Peter to do the same as everyone filed out of the room. Peter vaguely remembered some call for all the workers at Stark Industries to be gathered for a conference with Harry, though he didn’t remember quite what the content was supposed to be about. In the midst of all of the Green Goblin talk and the dream-like weekend with Tony, Peter had almost forgotten about his own personal meeting with Harry before everything happened. He had almost forgotten about the strange proposal Harry had given him, and now Peter wondered if he should have brought that up to Tony, but no, Peter dismissed it quickly, because Tony didn’t have to worry about that right now, and Harry didn’t seem like he was going to do anything _that_ drastic.

Even now, from all the way at the front of the conference room, Harry shot Peter the same warm smile he had given his other co-workers. Peter relaxed a little more. See, there was nothing wrong. Everything had been forgotten.

The presentation started—business statistics, progress reports on the many smaller projects at Stark Industries. Peter made the occasional note, and the meeting went by without a hitch. At least that much, Peter could tell Tony if he asked. As everyone stood up around him, Peter checked his phone for any messages. Nothing.

Swallowing back his disappointment, Peter pocketed his phone and started to follow after his co-workers when he heard Harry ask, “Feeling better?”

Peter turned around. “Wh—oh, yeah,” he said, reaching up to the scarf around his neck. He wondered if he should fake a cough, but deciding against it, Peter added with a brief smile, “All better now, thanks.”

“Had us worried,” Harry said, although Peter doubted that the whole of Stark Industries could be worried about someone as low-level as Peter to be missing for a few days. Still, the sentiment was nice. Peter decided to keep smiling.

“Thanks,” he said again. And, searching for something casual to say, he settled for, “Sounds like things are going…well?” He let his voice lift in something of a bit of an apologetic questioning lilt. He had mostly gathered from the cheers from the business sector of SI that things were good, but he honestly had no idea what was going on from that corner. But if Harry was at all disturbed by Peter’s total lack of knowledge regarding business, he didn’t seem bothered.

Instead, Harry smiled, pocketing his hands. Casual. “Yes,” he said. “Things are going just fine.” He nodded at Peter. “How’re things for you today? Managed to catch up?”

“Yeah,” Peter replied. “Not a lot to catch up on—in a good way!” He added after sounding the sentence out in his sentence again. “Everyone’s been…yeah, things are okay.”

“Great,” Harry said, and he gestured towards the door. “Seems like you’re going to have to keep catching up, though.” 

Peter turned back around to the door. Most of the room had emptied out by now, his co-workers along with everyone else. Peter would probably go down to the lab a little late. With that knowledge, Peter hurried over to the door. Grasping the handle, Peter turned back around to Harry. “After you,” he said, gesturing out the door.

“Thank you,” Harry said, and Peter waited until he stepped through before he started through himself—but he must have moved too fast or too clumsily (probably a combination of both), because he felt the sudden sharp pain of the door handle digging into his side, right where Peter knew were still some fading bruises.

Before he could stop himself, Peter let out a hiss of pain. He instinctively reached for his side, but then he heard Harry’s worried, “Are you alright?”

Peter looked up quickly and forcing his hand down, he braced on an embarrassed smile. “Sorry,” he said quickly. “Just bumped into the handle.”

“Didn’t seem like you just bumped into it,” Harry said, raising an eyebrow. Then, his eyes flitting to Peter’s face, his eyebrow crept a little higher up his hairline. “What’s that?”

Peter barely had time to react before Harry was suddenly striding forward, and then one hand was tugging at the edge of Peter’s scarf. “Harry—” Peter started to say, but Harry looked down at Peter, his gaze so intense that Peter’s voice died in his throat. Peter swallowed as Harry tugged away the scarf, and he waited for the inevitable reaction to come.

There was a silence first, and Peter watched as Harry’s eyes first narrowed, then widened gradually as the full effect of the bruise hit him.

“What _happened_?” Harry asked at last, looking at Peter.

Peter tried to shrug away from Harry, but he held fast. “I just fell,” he said, but he cringed at how terrible that excuse was. “On…the stairs.”

“The stairs,” Harry repeated flatly. “And just happened to land on your neck?”

“I’m clumsy,” Peter said, attempting a laugh, but it quickly faded when Harry didn’t laugh back. “I was sick, too,” Peter remembered. “Um, so I wasn’t exactly in the right headspace.” He tugged at his scarf again, and this time, Harry let it go. “I’m fine,” Peter said quickly, wrapping the scarf around his neck.

Harry looked at Peter for some time, and then, in a soft voice, he said, “You know, Peter, you don’t have to hide things from me.”

Now it was Peter’s turn to raise his eyebrows. Harry was nice, sure, but—well. Peter had a feeling most CEOs didn’t address their employees the way Harry was addressing him now. “I’m not,” Peter said, swallowing. “But thanks.”

“If you ever need to talk to someone,” Harry said, resting a hand on Peter’s shoulder, which caused Peter to jump just the slightest (but Harry didn’t seem to notice), “you know where my office is.” He smiled expectantly then, and Peter managed a wobbly smile of his own.

“Yeah,” he said. “Thanks.” With that, he slid out from under Harry’s hand, leaving him only empty air.

\--

It was raining by the time the day ended. Peter found himself being the last one in the building, save for the janitors and a receptionist who ran into Peter when he was making his way to one of the bathrooms. They had exchanged the obligatory friendly co-worker smile, and when Peter walked back out of the bathroom, the receptionist had either left or she was still in the bathroom. That was when Peter had registered the rain. There weren’t any windows down in the lab, but here, on the upper floors, Peter surveyed the already darkening, drizzling sky. Peter’s heart sank. He had forgotten his umbrella. Again.

Heaving out a small sigh, Peter headed back down to the lab to gather his things. He turned off the lights, headed back up to the lobby. A security guard gave Peter a halfhearted wave followed by a nod as Peter stepped out of the elevator. Typical rainy mid-week atmosphere.

Peter tugged on his jacket just as his phone buzzed in his pocket. At that, Peter smiled. He fished his phone out, feeling a new warmth spread across his chest as he read Tony’s message:

_morgan’s faking sick for you to come over today. should i just let her?_

Peter bit down on his bottom lip to keep his smile from growing. _i’m seeing you guys on friday_ , he wrote back.

Tony’s response was almost immediate.

_but what if i also wanted you to come over right now?_

_I,_ not _we_.

Peter mulled over potential responses. In reality, he really _couldn’t_ afford to go over to the house right now, not again after he pulled so many sick days, but still, a part of Peter transported himself back to standing right next to Tony, close enough to feel the warmth of his body radiate into his. Peter’s head spun with that sudden ache, with a sudden need to just be at Tony’s side and feel his hands and hear his voice and just take everything in—

Peter shoved his phone away before he could write anything stupid. Anything too much.

If Peter had told MJ about this (just _thinking_ about the possibility made Peter shiver), MJ would probably laugh at him (assuming, of course, that she hadn’t beaten him over the head for actually catching feelings for _Tony Stark_. And doing _more_ than just catching feelings). If Peter had told Ned about this (again, assuming that he, too, had somehow come to terms with the whole situation), Ned would probably pull the phone out of Peter’s pocket and instruct him to _text back_. And if Peter had told May about this (in the alternate universe in which May, too, would be _fine_ with this), May would…Peter winced now. He could just imagine May’s smile, the little shake of her head. “That’s how it happens,” would probably be what she would say, and Peter knew that because she had said those words when Peter and MJ started dating.

But Tony wasn’t MJ. And not in a bad or good way, either. Just…different.

Comparing Tony and MJ would be like trying to compare the sea and the stars.

Peter wondered if it was the same for Tony. Comparing Peter with—

 _Don’t even think about that,_ Peter thought, shame flooding into his chest. _That_ was completely different. MJ and Peter had broken up. They had both moved on. Pepper and Tony—

Peter’s chest tightened, and he was suddenly glad that he hadn’t texted Tony back.

Should he have texted back?

“What’re you still doing here?”

Peter unfroze. Turned around. Harry had come out of the elevators, and Peter hadn’t even noticed. “I thought you’d be home by now,” Harry said, walking towards Peter.

“I got…” Peter’s fingers closed around his phone. It hadn’t buzzed. “Distracted.”

“Happens to the best of us,” Harry said cheerfully, and nodding out the windows, he said, “ _That_ doesn’t look pretty enough to be distracted by, though.”

It took Peter a second for him to register what Harry was saying. “Not by the rain,” he said. “I—um, I should have just checked the weather…” His voice drifted as Harry looked at Peter’s hands. Or, more specifically, his empty hands. “I forgot my umbrella,” he said, sensing what Harry was already going to observe.

“How unfortunate,” Harry said, and then, looking back at Peter, he said, “You don’t live too far away, do you?”

“No…?”

“Right, then,” Harry said. He walked past Peter and, pausing before the doors, he said, “Just wait here a moment.”

Peter didn’t know if he had a choice. He watched Harry walk out of the rain, and he disappeared around a corner. A few minutes later, a car drove up to the front of the building, and Peter suddenly found himself being guided out of the building and led into the passenger seat.

“Address?” Harry asked promptly.

Peter blinked. “What are you doing?” he asked. Squeaked.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Harry asked, giving Peter a sidelong glance. “I’m giving you a ride. Now, address.”

Peter stammered out something that vaguely sounded like his address before Harry shot him the same impish grin Peter remembered from their first encounter. “Now, that wasn’t so hard,” Harry said and then, revving up the car, they went off.

Harry was a quiet, still driver. He didn’t even tap his fingers against the steering wheel. He didn’t play any music, either, and for a while, the only actual sound was the rain pattering down the windows and the dull thrum of the other cars around them.

“Thanks,” Peter said finally, glancing over at Harry. “You didn’t have to do this.”

“It’s my pleasure,” Harry replied. “Can’t have you sick again, especially with all of the new work coming in.”

At that, Peter frowned. “New work?” he asked.

Harry paused a second too long before laughing. “Just playing with you,” he said, keeping his eyes on the road. “I thought I could slip a fast one by you.”

Peter laughed along too, but the space between Harry and himself had already become uncomfortable. “Is this about…last time?” he asked.

“Well, yes,” Harry said, “and no.” Now, he glanced over at Peter quickly before laughing again. “I heard you loud and clear during the meeting, Peter. You didn’t want to be any part of my own…aspirations, I’ll call them. But still, I _did_ have to wonder if you’d change your mind, given light on the last few days.”

Peter’s brow furrowed. “The last few days?” he repeated uncertainly.

Harry lifted his eyebrows at the road. “Well, I’m sure you’ve heard, even while you were sick,” he said. “The…Green Goblin, was it? That’s what the news are calling him now, aren’t they?”

Peter’s heart jumped. “I…” He looked to the window. “What do you mean?”

“Well, I’m sure you’ve seen it all on the news,” Harry said. “But you saw how the Green Goblin attacked all those people. A whole mess, really. And then _Spider-Man_ comes swooping in…did you see that on the news?”

Peter let out a small breath. His heart re-settled in his chest. “Yeah,” he said, turning back around in his seat. “That was…a lot.”

“All that danger,” Harry mused. “All those people…” He shook his head. “It’s a shame.”

Peter frowned. “What’s a shame?”

“Well,” Harry sighed. “Those people could have been able to protect themselves. The _police_ should have been able to protect themselves. They should have been able to stop that thing on time, but—well, you’ve seen the footage, haven’t you?” He clucked his tongue. “All those people running around like headless chickens. No sense of organization. It’s not until _Spider-Man_ comes into the picture…” He sighed again. “Renders the whole group of people complicit.”

“Not exactly,” Peter said before he could stop himself.

At that, Harry looked over at him. Peter looked away. “I mean…” He tried to sound indifferent, but his cheeks were already warming up. Peter was grateful that it was dark enough that Harry probably couldn’t see the red in his face. “Spider-Man’s just saving people, isn’t he? He’s just helping people out. He’s not trying to make people…complicit.”

“Oh, I’m not saying he’s doing it _intentionally,_ ” Harry said lightly. “But there’s something to be said there—like I said before, Peter, things would be so much easier if people were just able to defend themselves rather than rely on some hero. And you saw how Spider-Man got hurt himself, didn’t you?”

Peter felt Harry’s eyes on him again. “Looked like the Green Goblin put Spider-Man through _quite_ the wringer.”

Peter wondered if his scarf was still hiding his bruise. “I guess that comes with the job,” Peter said, squeezing his hands around his knees.

“I guess it does,” Harry agreed, and then the car came to a sudden stop. Peter jerked his head up to find that they were right by his apartment building. “Well, here we are.”

“Thanks,” Peter said, unbuckling his seat belt. He tried to control the slight tremor in his hands as he wound the seatbelt back to its proper place.

“Of course,” Harry said. He smiled at Peter. “Take care of that bruise of yours, will you? Don’t slip up again now.”

Peter forced on a smile, but his heart still jackhammered in his chest, even as he walked back into his apartment. He ran up the stairs, practically threw himself into his apartment, let out long, shaky breaths. What _was_ that? Did Harry know that Peter was—

Peter crept to the window and looked down.

Harry’s car was still waiting by the apartment building.

Peter imagined Harry looking back up at the apartment, his eyes searching the windows. Just at that thought alone, Peter ducked out of the window. Or maybe Harry was just looking for directions back to his home.

It was fifteen minutes before Harry finally left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, comments/kudos are always appreciated!


	16. SIXTEEN

“Peter?”

“I think Harry knows I’m Spider-Man.”

Tony blinked. Standing up from the workbench, he asked, “What do you—”

“It was raining, right? And, um, I forgot my umbrella again, and Harry offered a ride, and at first things are totally normal, and then he started talking about the Green Goblin and the attack, and then he started talking about how Spider-Man got hurt—how _I_ got hurt—but it was weird, because he saw my bruises and stuff? Like, earlier today, I hit a stupid door, and it _hurt_ , and then he saw my neck even though I wore a scarf, and—”

“I’m going to need you to slow down,” Tony said, pacing around the garage. He could imagine Peter doing the same, his hand probably pushing up to his hair, his eyes wide and panicked. He could hear Peter’s labored breathing from the other end of the phone, practically _feel_ the quickening heartbeats. “Peter?”

“Um—right.” There was a long exhale from the other end. “Harry just said all this stuff on the drive home. He doesn’t like Spider-Man, I think. And then he mentioned how Green Goblin really beat him—me—up, and then he started talking about my bruises, and I just…” His voice drifted, as though Peter was only now registering his own words.

“This is stupid,” Peter said at last. There was a shaky laugh. “I—uh—sorry. Overreacting. This was stupid.”

“No,” Tony said automatically. “It wasn’t. Secret superhero identity and all—that’s something to get nervous about.” He leaned back against the workbench. Hell, Tony never had to worry about secrecy since practically when the suit was built. So maybe there was some ease in that, but at the same time, Tony hadn’t minded the publicity. He _enjoyed_ it, at least back when he was younger. And then everything else came piling in. He knew the same applied for all his other friends. The most secret was probably Natasha, but even then, that was only because she didn’t have any real identity for the public in the first place.

“I feel stupid,” Peter said.

“Well, don’t,” Tony said. He pushed himself off the workbench, turned out the lights in the garage. “Direct order.”

Tony was relieved to hear the smile in Peter’s voice as he said, “Direct orders now?”

“Better believe it,” Tony replied. He headed into the house. “I’m still capable of giving those. You know, as your former boss and all.”

“You weren’t my boss,” Peter protested.

“Kind of was,” Tony said. He found Morgan in the living room, reading a book on the couch. She looked up with a questioning look, and for a second, he wasn’t sure what to do. He settled for the truth. _Peter_ , Tony mouthed, and nodding, Morgan returned to her book.

Tony drifted over to his bedroom. He closed the door behind him as lightly as possible. “What’re you doing now?” he asked.

“Nothing,” Peter replied. “Talking to you.”

Tony leaned against the door. “How’re you doing?”

There was a long sigh. Then, “I think I’m just a little stressed out. The whole…Green Goblin thing.” Quickly, Peter added, “It’s not that I don’t think I can take him—I can—but just…I guess I forgot that crazy things still happen around here, you know?” A small laugh of disbelief. “Kinda got used to dealing with regular people after…Thanos. Space.”

“Hard to top that,” Tony agreed grimly. He looked out to the garage through the window. He could get some work done, maybe do a little research on this Green Goblin himself. He was sure that Steve and Nat wouldn’t argue if he asked for intel.

“Yeah,” Peter said. Then, as though reading Tony’s mind he said, “I’ve got this under control, though. You don’t have to worry about it.”

Tony looked away from the window. “This isn’t exactly your typical petty robber,” he said. “Or even the Vulture. This is something else. You heard Steve and Nat—there’s probably a dozen people willing to jump in with this you if you asked.”

“But I’m _not_ asking,” Peter said. “I’ll be okay.”

Tony remembered how Peter looked when he came to the site. Cuts and bruises along his face, his neck. Broken ribs. Two days of thinking that the last thing he and Peter did was kiss and fight, and now they weren’t even able to talk about it. Two days of worrying, checking for even the faintest signs of revival.

“What about now?” Tony asked. “You said Osborn caught you earlier today.”

“I’m fine,” Peter said. “Just a little sore.” When Tony didn’t respond, Peter repeated, “It’s _fine_.”

Tony closed his eyes, tilted his head back against the door. “What does May think?” he asked at last.

“She’s worried,” Peter admitted. “But I mean, there’s been worse before, right?” Tony heard the creak of bedsprings and then Peter said, “It’ll just be a week. _I’ll_ give it a week, tops, before everything dies down. And then things can go back to normal.”

“Do we have a standard for normal now?”

“Well,” Peter said, his voice soft, “maybe our definition of normal.”

And though Peter could have just been saying _our_ in a general sense, Tony felt himself smile at the idea of a shared normalcy between them. A different kind of shared normalcy. Tony’s fingers running through Peter’s hair on the couch. Tender kisses in the dark. Hands. Everywhere, hands.

Dangerous.

This was dangerous.

They had known it was dangerous from the moment they kissed—from the first kiss under the glow of kitchen lights to the kiss in Peter’s room. The hungry clash of lips, Peter’s hands tugging at the hem of Tony’s shirt, Tony’s hands pushing into Peter’s hair. It had still been dangerous when they were in the living room, when Peter was sleeping on Tony’s lap, when Tony pressed just the lightest of kisses along Peter’s jaw, his neck before he left.

The whole thing was ridiculous in some ways. It was as though once Tony had kissed Peter, he just couldn’t get enough of the mere touching, even though a part of him still cringed at how wrong it all was. (He had known Peter since he was in _high school_. He was like Morgan’s _brother_.) But he didn’t stop. He couldn’t stop, not whenever Peter looked at him.

“What are you thinking about?” Peter asked.

Tony pushed himself off the door. Made his way to the bed, perched himself at the foot of the mattress. “I’m thinking about our definition of normal.”

“Is it a good definition?”

Tony fell back against the mattress, his phone still pressed to his ear as he tilted his face up to the ceiling. “Still trying to figure that part out,” he replied. “If you can believe it.”

There was silence, and for a second, Tony felt the briefest flash of panic. Maybe he had said the wrong things, but then he heard the distant creak of Peter’s mattress, and then Peter’s soft voice again: “I’m still trying to figure it out too.”

Tony didn’t know whether to feel relieved or disappointed. He chose for relieved. “I don’t want you hurt,” he said, and he wasn’t talking about Green Goblin now.

“I won’t get hurt.”

Tony closed his eyes.

“Tony?”

“Still here,” Tony said.

“Okay,” Peter replied. “I won’t get hurt.”

 _Dangerous promise_ , Tony thought.

“You won’t hurt me.”

Tony pushed his hand up to his face. He could imagine Peter laying on his bed, so perfect, so patient with those big brown eyes and the little curve of a smile that he already knew so well. And Tony both wished that he could transport himself to Peter’s room right now, roll over in bed and just kiss that perfect little smile of his until the morning. Feel Peter’s arms wrap around his back, drag him down with him because that’s the kind of stuff Peter had a habit of doing.

And for some blissful, hysterically happy seconds, Tony would let himself be pulled down with Peter. He would be happy.

But then he would look down at Peter again, take in those adoring eyes of his, and then he would remember that _fuck_ , there have been times when Peter looked at him like that before— _long_ before any of this had started.

“Tony?”

“I’m here,” Tony said, rolling over on his side.

“Okay,” Peter replied. “I thought I lost you for a second.”

“Nope,” Tony replied, dragging his hand away from his face.

“Good, because I thought you were getting nervous about what I just said,” Peter said dryly.

Tony shouldn’t be smiling, but he couldn’t help it—he did it anyways. “Caught me.”

“Duh,” Peter replied. Tony heard the squeak of a mattress again, and then Peter again: “Stay on with me?”

Tony did.

\--

Tony woke up earlier than he normally would. It was still dark outside when he got to the garage. He had re-settled back into this habit since Morgan started school: going to the garage, tinkering. Upgrading Peter’s suit. Upgrading his own suit, even though Tony told himself it would only take a _serious_ emergency for him to ever need to use the suit ever again. And making Morgan’s suit. Which was totally secret and totally without Morgan’s knowledge because Tony didn’t quite like the idea of Morgan whizzing around New York just yet. Just in case, though, Tony found himself going to the garage earlier and earlier in the mornings.

A part of him liked the routine. He liked getting his hands busy again, liked the quiet hours where it was just the machines and him. Routines were good. And Tony set an alarm for when he would have to go back into the house to get Morgan up for school, so he wouldn’t just spend the entire day holed up in the garage.

Pepper would be proud.

Tony slid down in front of his workbench now. “Rise and shine,” he said, taking a sip of coffee. The garage lit up with blueprints. Things he had been working on last night. Only he didn’t want to work on them right now. He dismissed the blueprints.

Instead, Tony sat down and pulled up the hiring documents on Harry Osborn. The school records, the resumes, the brief note on family history. “FRIDAY,” Tony called, “give me everything you’ve got on Oscorp.” He paused. “And their scandal.”

Tony wasn’t sure what he was looking for exactly. But he _did_ know if Harry would hold Peter’s identity against him, then they would have to be prepared. And even _if_ Harry didn’t actually know that Peter was Spider-Man, it wouldn’t hurt to still have some extra information, right?

A part of Tony felt guilty as he flicked through the records. Harry seemed like a good kid, and Peter had said he liked him. But the panic in Peter’s voice was still very present in Tony’s head.

There wasn’t much info on Harry’s interactions with Oscorp. As Harry had said in the interview, the Oscorp heir had completely cut himself away from the picture.

But Tony found himself instead turning to the documents on the Oscorp scandal. Information on what the scandal was about was vague: Norman Osborn handling dangerous materials. Buzzwords like “mad scientist” and “ethical wrongs”. A photo of Norman Osborn in handcuffs being dragged away.

“What did you do?” Tony muttered, flicking through the news articles. He zoomed in on a picture of Norman. His eyes were wild as he was carried away by the police. A corner of his lab coat was torn off. Some animal, maybe? Tony knew Norman had worked more with biology and zoology than anything else. Not exactly Tony’s realm of expertise.

Before Tony could look any further, his alarm went off. Time to gather up the troops.

By the time Tony got back in the house, Morgan had already gotten into the shower. He went into the kitchen, pulled out a pan. Eggs. Morgan was going on an eggs kick now. He checked his phone for a message, but there was nothing there. Tony pocketed his phone just as Morgan came out of the bathroom, still semi-sleepy eyed but dressed.

“Morning,” Tony said, passing Morgan her breakfast.

“Morning,” Morgan said around a yawn. She glumly shoveled in some eggs before asking, “Is Peter okay?”

“Hm?” Tony looked at Morgan from the coffee machine. She had the side of her face propped up on her hand, and though she looked ready to fall back asleep, Morgan still kept her gaze up at Tony. “He’s feeling a lot better.”

“Is he gonna fight Green Goblin?” Morgan asked. She poked at her eggs with her fork. “Louis keeps telling me that his dad thinks Green Goblin is one of the scariest bad guys in New York.” She looked up at Tony and added, “Louis’ dad is a cop.”

“Well, Louis’ dad is probably new around here,” Tony said, reaching over to muss Morgan’s hair. “Because Green Goblin is _not_ the scariest bad guy in New York, and he’ll be old news by next week.”

“That’s what I told Louis,” Morgan said, nodding proudly. But the pride lasted only for so long before Morgan’s shoulders rounded over and, looking down at her plate, she asked, “Peter’s got it…right?”

“Absolutely,” Tony replied, letting his hand fall from the top of Morgan’s head to tuck a strand of flyaway hair behind her ear. “He’s got it totally covered, and he’s got the world’s best people to help him out if he needs it. Which he won’t, because he’s got it all under control. You gonna finish your breakfast now?”

Morgan dutifully finished her plate and passed it back to Tony. “Now go brush,” Tony said, nodding to the bathroom, and Morgan rushed off. Tony only just set the plate in the sink when his phone started vibrating.

 _Finally_ , Tony thought, but when he picked up his phone, he found that it was Rhodey calling.

“Morning,” Tony said, propping the phone between his shoulder and ear as he picked up the plate again. “How’re things in the Underworld?”

“Very funny, Tones,” Rhodey deadpanned. “Just calling to ask you the same thing. Saw the news. How’re things holding up? Kid’s alright?”

Everyone seemed to know that Tony would somehow get involved whenever Peter got hurt. Tony didn’t know whether to be exasperated or pleased or worried about that. Maybe all of the above. “He’s being stubborn,” Tony replied, soaping down the plate. “Busted up his ribs. Got some bad scrapes and bruises, but super healing is a gift.”

“He’s back to work now?”

“Something like that,” Tony replied. He turned up the heat of the water. “You’re not the first one to call. Steve and Nat already did—they offered help, but Peter won’t have it.” He shot a hot stream of water at the plate. The water missed the plate, hit Tony’s fingers. He hissed, dropping the plate briefly in the sink. A corner of the plate chipped.

“You alright?”

“Yeah,” Tony said, shutting off the sink. “I hate dishwashing.”

“But are you _alright_?”

Tony paused. “So we’re not talking about dishwashing?”

“I saw the footage. It seemed pretty bad.”

“Yeah, well,” Tony said, leaning against the sink, “it was a good thing that I was there to get him out of there, wasn’t it?” He looked out the window. The lake was still. “He was out for two days, you know. Didn’t wake up.”

Rhodey didn’t say anything.

“He’s just being stubborn,” Tony repeated. “But I swear to God, if that _thing_ comes at him again—” He cut himself off. Swallowed down the anger that was already bubbling up his throat. Saw Peter’s still body on the ground again. He hadn’t moved at all, not even when Tony picked him up. “We’ll get it fixed.”

“I know you will,” came Rhodey’s response. “But Tony, I gotta say—I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”

“Which part?”

“All of it,” Rhodey replied. He groaned. “I thought we were done with all of the alien shit, and now I’ve got some folks saying that this isn’t alien at all.”

Tony frowned. “What do you mean?”

“No one’s seen anything enter the atmosphere since Thanos,” Rhodey replied. “Carol’s reported that she hasn’t seen any signs of activity or interest from other extraterrestrial beings. So this _Green Goblin_ thing? It’s probably not even from another planet. It’s something else.”

“You’re holding back,” Tony said. “What’s the something else?”

Rhodey didn’t say anything.

Tony groaned. “ _Rhodey_. Come on.”

“Intelligence says it might be man-made. Similar to how Bruce goes all Hulk-mode.”

Tony frowned. “You’re not saying that Bruce—”

“God, no,” Rhodey said quickly. “No way. Bruce is just as horrified about this as we all are. But do you see what we’re talking about here, Tony? If we’re right, then some crazy guy out there really got ahold of something that could turn himself into that… _thing_.”

Tony pushed himself off the sink. “So what are you doing about it?”

“We’re trying to figure out who this guy is,” Rhodey replied.

“Is that it?” Tony couldn’t help the annoyance already trickling into his voice. He knew Rhodey couldn’t control anything—it was unfair for him to assume anything like that, but he couldn’t help himself.

“Don’t give me that,” Rhodey said, as though reading Tony’s mind. “We’re all trying our best here.”

“I _know_ ,” Tony said, pushing his hand up to his face. “But— _God_ , Rhodey.” He rested his forehead against his open palm. He saw Peter’s still body flash before his eyes again, the two days of just pacing and worrying and checking for Peter’s vitals and hoping that he would wake up soon. “You said it. You saw the footage.”

Rhodey’s voice was quiet. “I know, Tony. We’re doing our best.”

 _Do better_ , Tony thought.

“I know,” Tony repeated, and he hung up. He slammed his phone down on the kitchen island, let his breaths shake out of him in a way that he didn’t know they had been waiting to until that moment. _Keep it together, Tony_.

He pocketed his phone. Took the plate out of the sink and set it on the counter.

“Morgan, you ready?” he called, walking out of the kitchen.

\--

After watching Morgan go into the school building, Tony started for the city.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, comments/kudos are deeply appreciated!


	17. SEVENTEEN

Peter had just gotten into the lab when his phone buzzed in his pocket. There was only one message from Tony:

_lobby_

Peter slipped his phone back in his pocket. “Gotta go use the bathroom,” he said over his shoulder to no one in particular. He heard a few noncommittal grunts behind him. Satisfied with that response, Peter rushed out the doors and hurried to the elevator. He checked his phone again, but Tony hadn’t sent anything else.

When the elevator doors finally opened, Peter wasn’t sure if the pounding in his chest was coming from the thrill or the anxiety that he was going to see Tony again. It was all stupid, honestly—Peter had seen Tony just the other day. He shouldn’t be this excited, and yet—

When the elevator doors finally opened, Peter found himself already half-walking, half-jogging to Tony, who was leaning ever so casually against the opposite set of elevator doors. He was dressed in one of his more casual dress shirts and a blazer—so not a business meeting, Peter realized.

“Hey,” Peter said, walking up to Tony. Keeping his hands in his pockets. Casual. He was being casual, too. He could do this. “What’s up?”

Tony jerked his head out the doors. “Feel like going out for a walk?”

Peter lifted his eyebrows. “You came all the way here to just ask if you wanna go out for a walk?” he asked, though he, too, was already leaning towards the doors.

“I came out all the way here to distract you from work,” Tony replied. “Different.”

“Is it now?” Peter asked lightly. With that, he followed Tony out of the building. They walked down the sidewalk, towards the crosswalk, and then, just a second before the crosswalk gave the walking signal, Tony whipped his head around and crushed his lips against Peter’s.

Peter heard himself give a small, embarrassingly high-pitched squeak in response, but then he was reaching up to Tony’s face, letting his fingers brush against Tony’s stubble, and then just as fast as they were kissing, they suddenly weren’t.

“Sorry,” Tony said. “Had to.”

Peter could still feel the heat of Tony’s lips against his. “No need to apologize,” he could only say. And then, after the pedestrian signal turned, Peter added, “That was…really nice.” He gave Tony a sidelong glance. “Can I ask why though?”

“Do I need a reason?” Tony looked back over at Peter, and even though he was smiling, Peter could just detect the faintest strain in his expression.

“No,” Peter heard himself saying, and he felt selfish for saying that because really, all he wanted was Tony to kiss him like that again. He smiled back, hoping he looked more convincing than Tony. “Just…a nice surprise.”

“Good,” Tony said. “Great.” They walked down the streets. The sky was bright in the way only autumn mornings could be, and Peter was glad for the sunshine.

“Anything interesting at work so far?” Tony asked. “Some more meetings with Harry?”

“No,” Peter replied. “Nothing.” And it was true—Harry had acted completely natural around Peter this morning, so much so that Peter started to wonder if yesterday was just an overreaction after all. Still, Peter paused. “Is this about yesterday?”

When Tony didn’t respond, Peter stopped in his tracks. “Because it’s all fine. Everything’s fine.”

“You didn’t sound fine last night.”

“Well, that was…” Peter lifted his shoulders. “That was different. I panicked. Already on edge, remember?” He waved his hands in front of Tony’s face. “It’s all good now.” Then, dropping his hands, Peter took a step towards Tony. “Let’s just…walk? Okay?” Without waiting for Tony’s response, Peter started walking again. He heard a faint huff behind him, and then Tony was walking beside him again.

“Why were you with Osborn yesterday night anyways?” Tony asked at last.

“I told you,” Peter replied. “It was raining. He wanted to give me a ride.”

“You could have called me.” Tony’s voice was quiet. Not annoyed or angry—not even jealous, but just a quiet kind of protest.

“Didn’t want to bother you,” Peter said. “And besides, you needed to stay with Morgan.”

Tony snorted. “You know I can go back and forth from this city to the house faster than—”

“I _know_ ,” Peter said, “but I wasn’t about to call you just because it was _raining_. I’m not about to bother you for that,” he repeated.

“You’re allowed to bother me,” Tony replied. His hand knocked lightly against Peter’s, and Peter couldn’t tell if that was by accident or on purpose. Either way, a light thrill went up Peter’s arm, travelled back down Peter’s spine. “Bother me all you want.”

And even despite that thrill, Peter looked at Tony again. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Tony’s gaze dropped. Flitted down Peter’s face, down to his lips, his neck. Lingered on his neck, and Peter knew Tony was probably looking for the bruises that had faded this morning. “Hey,” Peter said quietly, and he brushed his fingers against Tony’s hand. “I’m right here.”

Tony’s eyes re-focused on Peter’s face. “You drive me crazy,” he said.

Peter lifted an eyebrow. “Is that bad?”

Tony let out a short, sharp laugh. “No. Yes. Tossing between the two.” He looked down at Peter’s hand, still just lightly touching Tony’s. And then Tony’s eyes met Peter’s again, and Peter wondered if they were going to kiss again, right here in the middle of the street for all the world to see, and Peter was already craning his head up when a taxi hurtled down the street behind him.

“What—” Peter only just had time to say when the building behind Tony exploded in a downpour of brick and concrete.

“Tony!” Peter blindly grabbed at Tony and dragged him aside just as a chunk of concrete landed right next to where Tony had been. Peter turned to Tony, his eyes scanning Tony for any cuts. “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” Tony said, looking at the building. “But what _was_ —”

A roar answered Tony’s question.

Peter looked up, and his stomach plunged at the sight of the all-too familiar green-grey face that leered down from the gaping hole of the building. For a second, Peter reared himself for a fight, but then he felt Tony grip his shoulder, followed by, “Suit.”

“Right, right,” Peter said hastily, and they bolted just in time for the goblin to jump down from the building. Peter looked over his shoulder. Cracks splintered the sidewalk from where the goblin landed, causing pedestrians to stumble and stagger back. A fresh wave of cries and screams split the air, and in that second, Peter felt himself surging towards the goblin—his suit was all the way back at work, and suit or no suit, he was going to have to fix this—

“Hang on,” Tony said, spinning Peter around. “Not yet.”

“My suit’s not with me,” Peter said. “I can’t just—”

“You don’t have to,” Tony replied, and he pressed something into Peter’s hand. Cool metal. Peter looked down and blinked. He held what looked like web shooters, but when he looked back up at Tony, he had the itching feeling that there was more to this.

“What’re you waiting for?” Tony asked, and Peter slid the web shooters on.

It took a second, but then Peter watched as the familiar red and blue pattern of his suit overtook his hands, his arms, his chest. By the time Peter looked back up at Tony, he found that Tony had been suited up too—housing device, Peter realized.

“You worked on this without me?” was all Peter could ask.

“Might have just sped a thing up or two,” Tony replied. “You can thank me later.”

Peter wasn’t sure whether to be exasperated or elated by the new suit. Or the fact that Tony had made this without him. That would be a discussion for later, Peter decided as he turned towards the mess Green Goblin was already making. “We’re gonna talk about this,” Peter said, and without waiting for Tony’s response, he swung himself to the building closest to Green Goblin.

“Hey, ugly!” Peter called, and a part of him roiled back as the creature’s rheumy eyes landed on him. “Ready for round two?”

At that, Green Goblin’s cracked lips stretched into a smile. “I had hoped you’d come,” was all the thing said, and then Peter hurtled down just in time to avoid a lob of sidewalk tossed past him. Peter heard the familiar shriek of laser beams, and Peter turned around to see Tony standing before the crushed up pieces of sidewalk.

“Maybe less chatter, more fighting?” Tony said dryly.

“Yeah, yeah,” Peter muttered, and he threw himself to a tree right above Green Goblin’s ear. The electric webbing had hurt the thing last time, but Peter also remembered how even despite it all, he had been thrown down in a matter of seconds. Peter clenched his jaw. He would just have to be quick.

Peter shot webbing directly into Green Goblin’s ears and let a jolt of energy speed through the webs. The tree Peter was standing on shook as Green Goblin roared, its arms blindly clawing the air to separate himself from the webs. Peter drew himself back just as Green Goblin’s hand came crashing down on the branch Peter had been standing on seconds ago.

The smell of burning flesh dizzied Peter as he climbed up the branches. When he looked down, Green Goblin was shaking his head and staring right back up at him, its eyes narrowed.

At least that got its attention.

Green Goblin wrapped its arms around the tree and with a grunt, started to push down on the trunk, and Peter felt himself going down as the tree groaned and snapped under Green Goblin’s grip. Peter started to swing for the opposite building, but as his feet left the branch, he heard another shriek of laser, followed by a guttural scream that caused the buildings to wobble.

“What did you do?” Peter asked, landing on a building.

“Just gave you time,” came Tony’s reply. “Think I might have pissed him off, though.”

There was another loud cry, followed by a heart-sickening crunch.

“What was that?” Peter asked, whirling around, and he found Tony flying above Green Goblin’s head, faint sparks trailing down from Tony’s suit.

“Nothing,” Tony replied tightly. “Took a small hit. Small.”

Peter’s heart sank. “Tony—”

“I’m fine. Getting tired of this guy, though.”

“You and me both,” Peter muttered, and he focused in on Green Goblin. It was looking straight back up at Peter, expectant. Peter could see a burn mark from where Tony must have hit him, but even then the thing seemed to be focusing now.

“Right,” Peter said. “I got this.” He lunged off for Green Goblin, webs already shooting out from his palms. The creature already had its arms wide and open, but at the last second, Peter diverted a web to a nearby building. With a flick of his wrist, he let out two quick shots, and a second later, Green Goblin roared in annoyance at the webs that Peter knew were covering its eyes.

Tony flew in, hands already lighting up with energy beams, but just as he got ready to fire, Green Goblin swung its fist around, knocking Tony down to the ground.

“Tony!” Peter shouted, and he started forward, but then he came in contact with Green Goblin’s still swinging fist instead. For a second, Peter couldn’t breathe as he was slammed right back into the building. He let out a faint gasp, searching, struggling for some air as Green Goblin’s red-rimmed eyes glowered down at him.

“Weak,” the goblin whispered, pushing its fist harder against Peter’s chest. Peter gasped. Yellow dots swarmed his vision. He needed to breathe—he had to—

But then suddenly, there was the high-pitched shriek of laser beams, and then Green Goblin’s fist dropped from Peter’s chest. There was a howl, and then Green Goblin was running off as Peter toppled down from the building. For a second, Peter was just airborne, the sidewalk hurling up to meet him, and then Peter landed against cold metal, followed by a short grunt.

“Got you,” Tony said. “Peter?”

“I’m fine,” Peter said, but his chest still felt like it had just been crushed under piles of rocks. Which, in some ways, he supposed, it had. “What about you?” They settled on the ground, and Peter got his answer as Tony slumped immediately forward.

“I’m fine,” Tony said as the suit slowly compressed itself back into its housing unit. “Just a scratch.”

Peter’s eyes searched Tony’s face. Pale, light beads of sweat. Nothing on the neck, shoulders…Peter’s eyes lowered to Tony’s side. There were already little bits of red dotting the side. “Peter,” Tony started to say, but Peter was already scrambling for Tony’s shirt, his hands already pushing the hem up, and then Tony was catching Peter’s wrists.

“Listen, kid,” Tony said, his voice in that horrible forced lightness it always took on when there was something wrong, “I’m flattered, but there’s usually a time and place for these things.”

“That’s not funny,” was all Peter said.

“Worth a shot.”

“Not really,” Peter muttered. He looked back up at Tony. “House?”

Tony nodded.

\--

“Ow,” Tony hissed as DUM-E stitched up the cuts at his side. “Why couldn’t you just do it again?”

“I don’t trust myself,” Peter replied, but he still sat next to Tony. He placed a hand over the stitches the bot had just etched in the skin. He lifted his eyes up to Tony. “How do you feel?”

“Fine,” Tony said, hoisting himself up on his elbows. Peter started to let his hand slide away, but before it could fully drop, Tony’s hand shot out and pulled it back up. “Your turn,” Tony said, leaning back. He nodded at Peter. “Drop the hero act.”

“I’m fine,” Peter said.

“Then take off the suit.”

Peter hesitated, but Tony’s eyes were boring into him with an all too familiar insistence that plagued Peter during the aftermath of any particularly brutal op. Keeping his eyes trained on Tony, Peter tapped the web shooters together and felt his suit slowly descend back into the small devices. Peter tugged off the web shooters and set them on the night stand.

“Come here,” Tony said, shifting over in the bed.

Peter looked at Tony, his heart jumping to his throat. “Are you—”

“Come here,” Tony repeated. “Let’s have a look.”

“Oh,” Peter said. Felt his heartbeat slow. “Right.” He caught a small smirk from Tony as he sank into the bed next to him.

“Now let’s see it,” Tony said, nodding at Peter. He tugged at a corner of Peter’s shirt. “It’s gotta be worse than you’re letting on.”

“How do you know?” Peter asked, but he still pulled off his shirt. He heard a sharp intake of breath, and Peter was about to lower his shirt back over his chest when Tony’s hand reached up to Peter’s wrist again.

“How—”

“It’s okay,” Peter said, lowering his shirt. He turned to Tony. “Karen already checked. Nothing internal. Just some ugly marks for the next day or two.” He tried for a smile, but Tony didn’t smile back. “Listen, at least I didn’t break my ribs again.”

“You could have. That _thing_ could have.”

“But I didn’t,” Peter replied. He nodded down at the stitches at Tony’s side. “You’re in worse shape than I am.”

“Comes with the job,” Tony said. He rubbed his thumb against Peter’s wrist. “Job being that you have to stay safe.”

“You don’t have to,” Peter said, rolling over on his side. He tried to stifle the wince that came with movement, but the wrinkles that appeared between Tony’s eyebrows told Peter that he wasn’t successful. “I’ll be okay,” Peter settled for. “You don’t have to worry about me like this.”

Tony’s eyes darted down to Peter’s chest, and then, looking back up at Peter, he said, “I hate this. I hate that this happens to you.”

Peter swallowed. “Comes with the job, right?” he echoed.

“It’s different when it’s someone else,” Tony said. There was a beat, and then, quietly, he added, “When it’s you.” He lifted his other hand briefly, just close enough to barely brush against Peter’s forehead. And then, as though registering what he was doing, Tony started to move his hand away, but without thinking, Peter dipped his forehead forward instead. 

“I’m right here,” he said. He lifted his head, let Tony’s hand slide away.

And then it was just Peter hovering looking up at Tony, Tony’s other hand still pressed against Peter’s wrist.

“I’m right here,” Peter repeated, and he pushed himself gently upwards, just enough for his lips to catch Tony’s. It was meant to be quick, soft, but then Tony was tugging at Peter’s wrist, and Peter found himself slowly rolling up on his arm so that he was actually just barely hovering above Tony now. “Right here,” Peter whispered. He let his lips trail down from Tony’s lips to the side of his neck, felt a small thrill at the shivers he felt along Tony’s skin. _He_ was doing _that_.

“Come here,” Tony actually _whined_ , and then he was taking Peter’s hands, guiding them up to Tony’s chest, up to his shoulders, and Peter had to actually prop himself up now to keep him balanced above Tony. Peter felt Tony’s hands pushing up to his back, felt his shirt riding up, and then it was Tony’s hands just on bare flesh. For a second, Peter almost stopped what he was doing because then he was concentrating on how Tony’s hands were trailing up his back and then they were riding down, dangerously down to his hips...

Peter’s pants were getting dangerously tight, and then he felt Tony laugh beneath him, which didn’t exactly help matters.

“Getting excited?” Tony murmured, and his hands went from Peter’s back straight to Peter’s stomach. Peter just barely bit back a moan as Tony’s hands dipped down.

“Sorry,” Peter still whispered. “Right now isn’t—you have _stitches_ —”

“Didn’t stop me before,” Tony relied. He paused, his hands still right above the waistband of Peter’s pants. “Unless you—”

“No,” Peter interrupted. “I…” God, it was hard to look at Tony now, Tony with his kiss-swollen lips and tousled hair—the lips and hair that was because of _Peter_. “I just—”

But Peter never got to finish, because then there was a loud _bang,_ causing both Peter and Tony to freeze.

“What—”

“Daddy? Peter?”

Peter stumbled off the bed and launched himself to the other side of the room just as the door swung open. A tear-streaked Morgan came running through the room, and once seeing Tony and Peter inside, she let out a small, terrible sound that was a cross between a sob and a sigh.

“I saw—” Tears squeezed out of Morgan’s eyes and trailed down her cheeks as she took shaky steps forward.

A second later, a red-faced Happy appeared at the door. “Thank God,” he said, leaning against the doorframe. “We saw the news.” He looked from Tony to Peter. “What _happened_?”

“Came out of nowhere,” Peter managed to say. “It ran off.”

“How the _hell_ —”

“Hey, Hap?” Tony called. “We can talk about that later.” At that, Happy disappeared from the door. Meanwhile, Tony pushed himself off the bed, and Peter noticed the slight tightness in Tony’s face but as soon as it came, it went as Tony extended his arms to Morgan.

“I’m okay,” Tony said as Morgan hurtled herself into Tony. He pressed a hand against the back of her head, planted a light kiss on her hair as he repeated, “I’m okay.”

Even though Morgan nodded, Peter saw the way Morgan trembled, and suddenly he remembered Morgan waking up in the night, tears streaming down her face, and then the words, “I thought you were gone, too”, and Peter’s stomach twisted because _God_ , of course Morgan would be scared—Tony gone after Thanos, and then Tony coming back, and then Pepper gone—

Peter felt sick. Morgan needed time. _Tony_ needed time. And then Peter thought about kissing Tony all over again— _God_ , he had been hard as _fuck_ just a second ago, and then to be interrupted by Morgan—

If that wasn’t some ominous warning from the universe, Peter wasn’t sure what was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)))) 
> 
> As always, comments/kudos are appreciated!!!


	18. EIGHTEEN

“Everything’s fine,” Peter said, wrapping his arms around Morgan. He lifted his eyes up at Tony and for a second, Tony thought Peter was going to smile, but then Peter’s eyes dropped back to the ground. “Don’t worry Morgan. This’ll be over soon.”

Morgan sniffed into Peter’s shirt, but to Peter’s credit, he doesn’t even react to the potential snot—and Tony _knew_ there had to be snot—on his shoulder. Still, Peter only gave Morgan another hug before standing up. “But wow, look at you—back from school early.” Tony knew that was an attempt to make Morgan smile, and to his relief, Morgan _does_ smile, albeit a shaky one. It would have to do for now.

“But speaking of early…” Peter glanced down at his phone. “I should probably get going.”

“What are you talking about?” Tony asked as Morgan opened her mouth.

“I should…get going,” Peter said. He was still looking at his phone. “You know. May’s probably worried. And Ned.” He looked up, smiled another terrible smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Phone calls are all fine and good, but I’ve got a feeling they’re going to want to make sure I’m still in one piece.”

Peter was lying. Tony knew Peter was lying, and he didn’t know why Peter was lying, but then Peter was walking out of the room, and Tony pushed himself off the bed. “Peter—” He reached for Peter’s arm, caught him by the shirt sleeve instead. At that, Peter paused, and Tony wondered if he had done something wrong, but then Peter turned around.

“Call me when you get back?” Tony asked.

“I—” Peter paused, looked down at his shoes.

“You know what? Never mind,” Tony said, letting go of Peter’s shirt sleeve. “I’ll call you.” He tried to catch Peter’s eyes. “Sounds like a plan?”

Peter gave a small, barely perceptible nod. Then, waving towards Morgan, he said, “See you guys later.” With that, he spun on his heel, and Tony heard Peter’s footsteps fade down the hallway and out the door.

\--

“We don’t need any more security.”

“You’re not _listening_ to me—”

“No, _you’re_ not listening.” Tony patted Happy’s shoulder. “Listen, I appreciate the work, but that thing won’t find Morgan and me here. Unless Green Goblin disguises himself as an UberEats driver, then we’ll be just fine.”

“Don’t even joke about that,” Happy warned.

“Too late,” Tony said, gingerly sitting down on the couch. Happy remained standing, wearing the same skeptical look that made Tony wonder if Happy had been spending too much time with Rhodey. “Trust me, Happy, we’ll be fine.”

Happy let out a long sigh. He sat down next to Tony. Then, letting his head fall back, he said, “So Peter went home.”

“Yeah,” Tony replied. “Said something about checking in with May and Ned.”

“That’s nice,” Happy said. He nodded to himself. “Good kid.”

Something inside Tony twisted. He could still feel Peter’s skin underneath his hands, feel Peter’s lips on his throat, his jaw. Before Morgan had come in, Peter had looked down at Tony in a way that made Tony feel filled up and hollow at the same time, because he just had so _much_ of Peter, and yet he still wanted to be the one to pull him down, bite into his shoulder or _something_ —just _more_ of him.

And Peter had been _hard_ , too. Tony could see it, _feel_ it, and he had felt something too, wanted to tug down Peter’s pants, feel him—

But Morgan had come in.

At that, guilt speared Tony’s stomach. She had been so _afraid_.

“He’s liking his new job?”

Tony focused back on Happy. “Yeah,” he replied, clearing his throat. “He doesn’t mind it. I keep telling him he could get a promotion any time he wants, but it’s Peter.” He cleared his throat again. “Listen,” he said, turning to Happy. “Thanks for doing everything for Morgan—getting her here and everything.”

“She’s a great kid,” Happy said, his face softening. “She’s _your_ kid.” He pushed himself off the couch. “She gets worried, though—about you and Peter.” He mimicked a talking mouth with his hand. “Always going on about you two.”

Tony’s chest tightened. “Good stuff?” he asked lightly.

“Mostly,” Happy said. “Sometimes not.” He looked at Tony. “Sometimes stuff about fights. But she’s been seeming happy lately, so I’m assuming you two are doing _something_ right.” He hesitated. “But she’s got you guys in her head all the time.”

Tony swallowed hard. “Yeah,” he said. “I know.”

“Well…” Happy shifted. “Just stay safe, Tony.”

“Will do,” Tony replied. He led Happy to the door, watched him walk out. After Happy pulled out of the driveway, Tony stayed on the porch. The whole place was quiet except for the occasional bird call and the gentle lap of lake water.

Peter should be home by now. Tony reached into his pocket for his phone, but then he let go. Peter could still be talking to May, and Tony wasn’t going to interrupt that. Even if Tony wanted to ask Peter what happened just a few hours ago. Tony turned the image of Peter over in his mind—the sudden refusal to meet Tony’s eyes, the rush to leave…

Tony’s first instinct was that it was embarrassment. Wired nerves, considering that Morgan could have caught them.

Tony’s stomach twisted again at the thought: Morgan, not just finding Peter on top of Tony, but Morgan finding out about them. About the truth behind the late night phone calls and the lingering looks and that fight that happened on the first night. The very prospect of sitting Morgan down and explaining to her that “well, Daddy _like_ likes Peter now” made Tony hot and cold all over.

Tony briefly imagined Peter sitting beside him as they would deliver the news. But then all Tony could see was Peter’s sad eyes and then he decided to file that scenario away. Then he imagined himself saying, “hey, do you remember that time when you said you didn’t want another mom? How would you like…”

But Tony couldn’t even finish _that_ thought, because Tony didn’t even know what to call Peter. How he would introduce Peter. Re-introduce Peter. “Morgan, Peter and I are…” Not dating. It was more complicated than that. Tony didn’t even know how he would take Peter out on a date. If that was even something that they would do. How does a pair of people date when they’ve essentially been alone together on multiple occasions already?

Complicated.

Everything was complicated.

Tony heard Morgan’s footsteps before she came to his side.

She didn’t say anything. Tony wordlessly shifted to the side for Morgan to lean against the porch railing with him. For a little while, they both watched the lap of the lake against the shore, and then Morgan rested her head against Tony’s shoulder.

Tony wrapped an arm around Morgan’s shoulders. “You okay?”

Morgan started to nod, but that nod turned into a head shake. “Was it scary?” she asked. She lifted her head up at Tony. “Facing Green Goblin?” She bit her lip. “I know that you’re with Peter, and I know that you guys fight bad guys all the time, but…”

“It wasn’t scary,” Tony replied, squeezing Morgan’s shoulder. “Because I knew that Peter and I were going to be fine.” But even as Tony said those words, he felt his heart squeeze at the idea of Peter toppling to the ground. The idea of Tony not being there—of what would and could happen if Tony wasn’t there.

“How do you know?” Morgan asked, her voice quiet. Searching.

 _I don’t,_ Tony wanted to say, but he couldn’t bring himself to admit that just yet in front of Morgan. “Gut feeling,” he said instead. “And a lot of stubbornness.” He planted a light kiss on top of Morgan’s head. “And I was right, wasn’t I? We were just fine.”

Morgan peered down at the bottom half of Tony’s shirt, and Tony knew she was probably thinking about the stitches across his skin. “Maybe.” They left it at that for a while, and then Morgan re-settled her head on Tony’s shoulder. 

\--

They went inside eventually.

“Dinner?” Tony suggested, and Morgan gave a halfhearted nod. Tony tugged open the refrigerator door, then the freezer, then the pantry, and he turned around to find Morgan sitting at the kitchen island, her head in folded arms.

“Okay,” Tony said, sliding across from Morgan. “I have zero inspiration. Zero.” When Morgan didn’t respond, he said, “ _So_ I guess that means breakfast for dinner.”

At that, Morgan perked up a little. “Waffles?”

“Homemade,” Tony said. He pushed himself off the island. “Not the frozen stuff for dinner.” He jerked his head to the cabinets. “C’mon, get the waffle iron.”

At that, Morgan hopped off the stool. They got to work quickly: Tony tugged out the mixing bowl and the ingredients from the pantry. He measured the amounts and let Morgan dump them into the bowl. He also let her mix the batter together for a few seconds before taking over himself, just to get rid of any lumps of flour that she might have missed.

The smell of waffles eventually filled the whole house, and in just a few minutes, the bowls and measuring cups lay in the sink abandoned as Tony and Morgan dug into their finished product. Morgan was calmer now too, her face less puffy from crying, her eyes a little clearer.

“So what are we watching?” Tony asked afterwards, and Morgan’s face brightened just a bit more. As she scrambled to go to the living room, Tony set himself to washing the dishes. But as he turned on the faucet, his phone buzzed once. Without thinking about his own wet fingers, Tony scrambled for his phone. _Peter_ , he thought, but when he looked down at the screen, it was just an email from Harry. Progress reports for the first quarter. Tony swiped the email away, annoyance and disappointment bubbling up his chest. Dropping his phone back in his pocket, Tony returned to washing the dishes. He was just putting the last dish in the dishwasher when Morgan started calling for him.

“Chose something good?” Tony asked, sitting down next to Morgan on the couch.

“Duh,” Morgan replied, clicking the television remote. As the yellow titles of _Empire Strikes Back_ crawled up the screen, Tony caught himself reaching for his phone again, even though it hadn’t vibrated. Tony scooted his phone back in his pocket and focus on the television instead. He got Morgan soda, microwaved some popcorn, threw a blanket over their legs as they watched Luke, Leia, and Han Solo try to save the galaxy. When Morgan asked if they could watch _Return of the Jedi_ after the movie ended, Tony didn’t argue, even if it was already getting late.

They got through half of _Return of the Jedi_ before Morgan started nodding off. She would close her eyes for just a few seconds, then snap them back open. She would turn around to Tony, as though to check he was still there, and when Tony would squeeze her arm to let her know that yes, he was still here, Morgan would turn her attention back to the television. The cycle repeated every fifteen minutes or so before finally, Morgan fell completely asleep.

Tony let the movie keep playing on the off chance that Morgan would wake up and catch the last few minutes, but Morgan slept through it all. It wasn’t until the end credits were rolling did Morgan stir.

“Ready for bed?” Tony asked.

Morgan nodded, rubbing a fist over her eyes. With that, Tony stood up. Wordlessly, Morgan climbed onto Tony’s back. Technically, Morgan was getting too big for piggy back rides, but she was tired, and Tony had the feeling that she needed it. That they both needed it.

“Goodnight,” Tony hummed as he slid Morgan into her bed. He smoothed the hair out of her face, kissed her on the forehead. “Love you.” But Morgan was fast asleep. Tony squeezed her arm one last time. “We’ll be fine,” he promised, and he walked out of the room.

\--

Tony had thrown out Morgan’s empty soda can, washed out the bowl of popcorn, and cleaned up the living room when he finally worked up the nerve to call Peter.

Peter picked up on the first ring.

“Hey.”

“Hi,” Tony said, sinking down on the couch. “Got home okay?”

“Yeah,” Peter replied. “I—May was worried. I’m with her right now.” He paused. “Well, not right _now_ now, but I’m at my old place. She hasn’t really moved any of the furniture in my room yet, which is nice. I don’t think she’s planning to just yet, either.” Another pause. “How’s Morgan?”

“Doing better,” Tony replied. “We watched two _Star Wars_ movies. Had breakfast for dinner.” He rubbed a hand over his face. “She was worried.”

“Yeah,” Peter said. “I…yeah. Sorry I had to leave so soon—I just figured that you two would…need some time or something.”

“Morgan wouldn’t have minded if you were with us,” Tony said. And that was true, at least. Morgan had been disappointed when Peter left, but it was a different kind of disappointment than the usual kind. Tony had seen the look on Morgan’s face, the way she looked as though Peter might not ever come back through the door ever again. Which probably didn’t help matters. “I think she might have actually been a little more freaked out.”

That was the wrong thing to say. Tony knew it the second those words left his mouth, because he heard the slight hiss from Peter’s end—the hiss that meant guilt.

“Not like that,” Tony said quickly. “She’ll understand—”

“No, you’re right,” Peter said miserably, and Tony’s heart clenched. “I didn’t think that through.”

“Then what were you thinking?” Again, a part of Tony winced because those weren’t the right words to say, but now those words were out there, hanging in the dead silence between them. Tony tried again. “I mean, one second we’re fine, and then the next, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.” He tried for a laugh. “Now, if you actually _did_ see a ghost, I’m sure Stephen’s got a trick or two about that—wizards _should_ be involved with ghosts, right? Pretty sure they exist in _Harry Potter_ …”

Tony waited to hear a laugh. Or a groan. Or a laugh-groan. Really, anything.

“Tony.”

“Peter.”

“I just…” Peter’s voice was uncharacteristically tight. “Tony, Morgan needs you.”

Tony paused. “Okay,” he said.

“Okay,” Peter replied. “So…she needs you. Like, _really_ needs you. And—” He cut himself off. For a second, all Tony could hear were Peter’s quiet, shaky breaths, and then Tony sat up.

“Peter?”

“Yeah,” Peter said. “Still here.” There was some shuffling and then a short puff of a sigh. “Today was just…a lot. To handle. For her.”

There was something Peter wasn’t saying, and Tony knew it. “Just for her?” he asked.

There was another silence.

“Peter,” Tony repeated.

“I don’t know,” Peter said. His voice was small. “Maybe not.”

“You wanna tell me what was so much to handle?”

“Not really.”

“And why is that?”

“Scared that I might be right.”

Tony looked up at the ceiling. “So prove yourself wrong.” He waited for Peter’s response. He heard the faint drip of the faucet in the background, the distant cry of an owl from somewhere outside instead. He was glad that it was otherwise quiet, because he wasn’t sure he’d be able to concentrate otherwise. All he had was Peter’s voice, Peter’s breaths.

“Morgan lost her mom,” Peter said at last, and Tony closed his eyes. _There it is_. “And you lost Pepper. And it’s just…I don’t know. Seeing Morgan. Today.” Tony could see Peter’s eyes squeezing shut, could see the pained little expression on Peter’s face as he said, “It just all became real. A lot more real today.”

Tony opened his eyes back up at the ceiling. “I know.”

“It’s just…it’s _Morgan_ ,” Peter said.

“I know,” Tony repeated, his heart sinking. He could hear himself listing off the reasons for Peter why they shouldn’t be doing— _whatever they were doing_ —again. Twice Peter’s age, Tony had known Peter since he was a kid, the fact that Morgan was like Peter’s brother. “Trust me, I know.”

He pushed himself up to a sitting position. His whole body felt cold. Fingers numb around the phone, heart sinking lower and lower for reasons Tony didn’t want to think about—because if he thought about those reasons, then everything would become so much more real, and Tony wasn’t sure he really wanted real right now. “Listen, Peter, I understand what you’re saying,” he said. “I’m still going to help you out with this Green Goblin thing, and you can keep visiting Morgan, and we can just pretend that this whole thing didn’t happen.”

For a second, Peter didn’t speak. Again, Tony wondered if he lost Peter, but then, just as he was about to check if Peter hung up, Peter asked, “What do you mean, pretend that this whole thing didn’t happen? Do you mean us?”

 _Us_. Tony kept that word in his head, let it linger before dissolving. “Isn’t that what you’re trying to tell me right now?”

Peter let out something that sounded like a mix between a snort and a laugh. “I— _no_ , that wasn’t what I—unless _you_ —”

And just like that, Tony’s body warmed all over again at a pathetically fast rate. He was going to hell for this, he knew, but Tony found the words tripping over his lips as he said, “No. That’s not what I—no. Definitely not.”

“Okay,” Peter said. “Because I wasn’t…I mean, I’m still…” There was a groan. _There it is_ , Tony thought again. But better. “I don’t know what to do,” Peter said. “Do you?”

 _Not a clue_ , Tony thought.

“We’ll figure it out,” Tony said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I know that this is a stressful time for everyone right now because of the coronavirus. I know that people living in East Asia have been affected first, and those in Europe have been affected for a little while as well. In the last week, America has gone full haywire, and as of now, I have until next Friday to move out of my college campus. 
> 
> I know this isn't totally related to the fic or to the MCU, but I suppose in times like these, we could all use a superhero. This is just to say that I hope ya'll are doing okay, and I hope ya'll are safe. If anyone needs to talk things out/process what's going on, I'm open for messages on tumblr via charonsdescent. (Link in my profile.)
> 
> As always, comments/kudos are always greatly appreciated.


	19. NINETEEN

The first thing May had said when Peter reached her apartment was “what’s wrong?” Not the usual “are you okay?” or “thank _God_ ” or “I was so _worried_ ”—just “what’s wrong?”, which made Peter realize that he must have looked worse than he felt.

He had wordlessly just fallen right into May’s open arms, let her rub circles into her back as he swallowed down everything that was building up in him. “Just going through a lot,” he mumbled against May’s shoulder. “Green Goblin. Work.” _Tony_.

“I know,” May had said. And then she had made them dinner, and every few minutes, May would look up at Peter expectantly, and Peter would pointedly look down at his plate because he was scared that if he actually opened his mouth, everything would come tumbling out, and he wasn’t sure he wanted everything to tumble out just yet.

Instead, as they were washing dishes, Peter asked, “You like Happy, right?”

May stopped. “Yes…?” she asked, her brows furrowing together. “You like Happy too, don’t you?”

Peter would have rolled his eyes if he wasn’t serious. “You know what I mean.”

May gave Peter a puzzled smile. “I—yes. Yeah. I _like_ him, if that’s what you’re trying to ask,” she said. She gave him a sidelong look. “Do twentysomethings still say _like_ that way?”

“You know what I mean,” Peter repeated. He hesitated, dishtowel still halfway scrubbed over the plate he was holding. “But were you—was he—” He stopped short as May fully turned to face him. Peter swallowed. Heat rushed up to his face because frankly, he didn’t really know if he even _wanted_ to talk to May about Happy and her—that had been a _whole_ rollercoaster ride towards the end of Peter’s senior year at high school—but at the same time, this was what Peter felt was the closest he had to work with.

“What were you guys thinking when you told me?” he asked at last.

May blinked. Then frowned. “Peter, are you—”

“It’s not that I don’t like Happy!” Peter said quickly, scrubbing away his plate. “I mean, I’m over it _now_ , trust me—but did you guys think about what to say before at all?” He glanced up at May, forced himself to focus back on the plate. “Did you guys know _when_ you were going to say something?”

May didn’t say anything at first. For a heart-pounding second, Peter wondered if she was already catching on, but then May sighed. “We didn’t know,” she said. “I wasn’t sure how you’d feel.” She pressed her lips together. “But I mean…as casual as it started, Happy and I were happy, and I love you, and I wanted you to be a part of that happy too.” She paused. “No pun intended.” She placed a warm hand under Peter’s chin. “Why do you ask?”

Peter’s chest tightened. “I don’t know,” he said, setting down the plate. “Something I overheard at work.”

May frowned. “Something your co-workers said?”

“Yeah,” Peter said, feeling both grateful and guilty for the sudden cover. “One of them was complaining about some dating issues…nothing serious,” he added at May’s skeptical look, “but it just—I don’t know, I was wondering.”

“You were wondering about your co-worker’s dating life?”

“Well,” Peter said, hooking the dish towel in its proper place, “he’s a nice guy.” He turned around to look at May, who still had her lips pressed together. But before she could ask anything else, Peter gave her a quick peck on the cheek, followed by, “Thanks, May.”

“You’re going to bed already?” May asked, surprised.

“Yeah,” Peter said, giving May what he hoped was a convincing smile. “Love you.”

“Love you too,” May called after Peter, and he darted into his room. He had only just closed the door behind him when his phone started ringing, and Peter hadn’t even had to look down at the caller ID to know that it was Tony.

“We’ll figure it out,” Tony said now.

 _What if we don’t?_ Peter thought.

“I know,” he said. He slid down to the floor with a soft _thump_. He gathered his knees up to his chest, let his forehead bump against them. He closed his eyes. “Tony,” he said.

“Yeah?”

Peter tightened his grip around his phone. “I don’t wanna mess this up.” Because he suddenly imagined what it would be like to suddenly feel that cold distance between Tony and himself again, have to force awkward smiles at social gatherings before lapsing into some terrible silence. Peter felt a lump swell in his throat, tried to swallow it back down, because suddenly that feeling was _too much_ , too much that Peter felt his heart breaking for something that hadn’t even started yet.

“I know,” Tony said this time, and Peter wondered if Tony was thinking about the same things as him—fearing the same possibility that everything would crash and burn and end in the way that was playing out in Peter’s head right now.

Peter pulled his face from his knees. “I was scared that I almost did today,” he said. “Before.”

There were a few seconds of silence before Tony said, “Thank God for loud doors.”

“Thank God,” Peter agreed, and he would have smiled except he could still feel the cold horror in his stomach from when he realized that Morgan had come into the house. He couldn’t even remember what exactly he did next—just that one second, his mind was a fog of _Tony_ and his _hands_ , and then in the next, Peter was standing at the farthest corner away as Morgan bolted into the room.

“Well,” Tony said dryly, “thank God you move fast.”

Peter let out a hollow laugh. “I guess,” he said. He cleared his throat. “But um…speaking of that.”

“…yes?”

An uncomfortable heat pricked at the back of Peter’s neck as he said, “That was…a lot.”

“Was it?” Tony’s voice was low, too low too fast. “I thought you were just getting warmed up.” Peter’s face flushed. Too warm. He was feeling too warm.

“You were in stitches,” Peter protested, but his voice came out quieter than he anticipated. He hoped May was asleep. May would be asleep. Just in case, he scooted away from the door. His front felt too tight and uncomfortable, and Peter crashed into his bed.

“What was that?” Tony asked.

“Nothing,” Peter said, just a little breathless from the sudden landing. “Just—um—had to switch spots.”

“Really,” Tony hummed. “Well, now that you’re talking about _switching spots_ …”

Peter couldn’t take it. The heat was becoming unbearable, and Peter dipped a hand into the waistband of his pants, grateful that he had changed out of his jeans for the day. His cock was already hard, painfully so, and Peter nearly whimpered as he wrapped a hand around it.

“Were you planning that little move, or was that a spur of the moment decision?” Tony asked, and Peter could hear the smirk in his voice, that damn _smirk_ that made Peter’s heart skip one too many beats. “Either way, I was…impressed.”

“You were?” Peter managed to ask, sliding his fist down his cock. He shivered, his hips already starting to move up, but he forced himself still. Not yet, he told himself. He couldn’t lose it right now, not with Tony talking in his ear like this.

“Of course, kid,” Tony said. “Just gotta say, didn’t expect you to get on top so fast.” Then, after a beat, he added, “Just so you know, we’re switching next time.”

 _God_. Peter pumped his fist upwards, just barely suppressing another whine. “What’re you planning to do with me?” he asked instead, his voice just barely trembling, and he was delighted to hear Tony’s quiet laugh, hoarse and familiar on the phone.

“That’s for me to know and you to find out, isn’t it?” came Tony’s reply. “Don’t want to spoil you.”

Peter bit down on his bottom lip to keep the sounds from coming out as he gave his cock another pump, gave his hips an experimental roll into the air. “What if—” He swallowed, trying to sound casual, “What if I want to be spoiled?”

“Feeling greedy today, are we?”

“Y-yes,” Peter unashamedly stuttered. He slipped his hand up and down his already pre-soaked cock. A bead of sweat rolled down the side of Peter’s face. He didn’t bother wiping it away. “I want to hear all of it.”

Tony hummed again—a casual, nonchalant sound. “You mean you want to hear about my dick in you?”

Peter’s eyes snapped open. His hand started moving faster, his cock twitching under the sudden pressure. “Tony,” Peter breathed, but Tony wasn’t done.

“You mean you want to hear about how I’d fuck you from the inside out?” Tony drawled, and Peter couldn’t keep himself from actually whimpering aloud this time. He heard the faintest thump from the other end, and then Tony said, “You mean you want to hear about how I’d have you take my cock whole?”

Peter had built up a steady rhythm now, his breath coming out in light pants. “I need,” was all Peter could manage to say, and he heard a light grunt from Tony’s end.

“I know you do,” Tony breathed, and Peter could imagine Tony now, his hands roaming Peter’s body, his thighs—Peter instinctively tightened his thighs together. “And I—” Peter heard a light moan, and it took everything in Peter to not moan along with him. “I would give it to you. Every— _ah_ —time.”

That was what did it. A sharp tug at his cock, a whimper that came out too fast, and Peter’s hips stuttered as he released in his fist. Not long after, Peter heard Tony’s panting reach a climax, and then a light groan, and then heavy breathing.

Peter shifted in his bed, his front feeling the tackiness of post-coming. “I gotta take a shower now,” Peter mumbled, heat spreading up to his cheeks.

“Not the only one,” Tony replied. Peter heard some shuffling on the other end.

Peter checked the clock. It was getting late. He hoped, again, that May wasn’t awake. “I’ll see you later?”

“Only if you want to,” Tony replied, and Peter’s chest filled with a stupid amount of warmth that made everything—every little problem and doubt that had haunted Peter’s head just hours earlier—dissolve.

“I want to,” Peter whispered. Then, afraid that Tony hadn’t heard him, Peter repeated, “ _I want to_.”

“That’s a copy,” Tony replied, and Peter could hear the smile in his voice. Then, quieter, “Take a shower, Pete.” There was a beat, and then, “Think of me.”

With that, Peter was left only with the faint buzz of a disconnected call. Peter slowly placed his phone down on his nightstand and, grabbing a change of clothes, headed for the bathroom.

He spent a long time in the shower.

\--

Peter woke up to the smell of pancakes. And pancakes meant talking.

Lots of talking.

That tradition had started when Peter was in high school, mostly. Trouble at school or trouble with family meant pancakes for breakfast the next morning because Ben and May had known that Peter liked pancakes, and that meant Peter would have to sit down and _talk_. Peter supposed the strategy worked better than those he had heard from MJ and Ned, but still, his stomach pitched as he got out of bed. On one hand, his stomach was already growling, so he was grateful for the idea of a big breakfast, but on the other—

“Good _morning_ ,” May trilled as Peter walked out of his bedroom. “Sleep well?”

“Yeah,” Peter replied, padding his way to the kitchen. “Smells great, May.” He swiped a glass out of the cupboard, filled it up with water.

“Had some chocolate, so I added those in, too,” May said, winking at Peter, and Peter smiled back, all the while feeling his heart sink in his stomach. _Chocolate_ pancakes. This was going to be a _very_ long talk. Still, Peter maintained his smile as he turned back to the table.

“Thanks,” Peter repeated, sliding into a seat. He fidgeted with his fork and knife until May came to sit down in front of him.

“Syrup?” May asked, and without waiting for a response, she pressed the bottle into Peter’s hand. Which alone was fairly normal, Peter supposed, because he always used syrup on his pancakes anyways, talk or no talk.

“These are great,” Peter said around a bite of pancake. “Thanks.”

The only sounds that filled the small apartment were chewing and forks and knives clinking against plate, the occasional swallow. Peter kept glancing up at May, wondering when she was going to speak, but her expression remained as neutral as ever. Peter was about to think that maybe May had just decided to make pancakes for the sake of making pancakes when she suddenly asked, “So what’s her name? Or his?”

Peter almost choked. He quickly grabbed his water, chugged down about half of the glass, and swallowed. All the while, May watched him, her expression decidedly unimpressed. “ _What_?” Peter managed to croak.

“The one you were talking to last night,” May said, cutting up her pancake into quarters, then eighths. She took a bite and, lifting her eyes to Peter, she added, “Because it sounded like you were having a fun time. Have to know who this certain person is who’s making my nephew so happy, aren’t I?”

Peter felt heat swarm up his cheeks as his mind scrambled to remember whether he said Tony’s name last night. He could have—he _must_ have at some point, but that had to be quiet, right? Otherwise May wouldn’t be asking—unless she already _knew_ —

“I—” Peter swallowed. “What exactly did you _hear_?” He regretted asking that the second the words fell out of his mouth, but May only shrugged.

“Not much,” she said, and Peter found himself relaxing just the tiniest bit. “But enough to know that you were…” May coughed delicately. “Busy.”

Peter groaned, pushing his hands up to his face. “ _May_ …”

“Listen, it’s fine,” May said quickly. “I just—I know you need your privacy, and I respect it. I _do_. But I just want to make sure that whoever you’re doing things with—”

“There are no _things_!” Peter protested, his face burning. He thought of Tony’s low drawl in his ear, felt his face burn all over again. “There are no _things_ happening right now!”

May lifted her hands. “Okay,” she said. “Lack of things or leading up to things or anything otherwise, I just want to make sure that you’re safe.” She peered at Peter over her glasses. “I’m going to assume you know how to use a condom—”

“God, _yes_ , May,” Peter mumbled, wishing that the floor would swallow him whole. “I _know_.”

“Okay, good,” May said. “Great.” She chewed another piece of pancake and, swallowing, asked, “So who is this person?”

“ _May_.”

“Sorry! I’m just curious. Is this a casual thing, or…?”

Peter remembered Tony’s whine of “ _come here_ ”, Tony’s hands drifting down to his waist. He cleared his throat and re-focused on his pancakes. “I don’t think so,” he mumbled. “It’s just…” He looked up at May. “I don’t know where we are yet.” That much was true, Peter decided, thinking about how Morgan had run into the room. He swallowed again, kept his eyes down on his pancake.

Even without looking, Peter knew that May was frowning as she asked, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I mean…” Peter puffed out a breath. “I mean. It’s just complicated.” _Understatement of the century_.

“Meaning…?”

“Meaning,” Peter looked up at May. Her eyebrows were raised, hands frozen on knife and fork. Peter forced his voice steady. “He’s—I mean, we’re just both going through a lot of stuff. You know, me being Spider-Man? Green Goblin? And he’s…” Peter bit down on the inside of his cheek before he could say anything stupid. “He’s going through family stuff.” He shrugged. It was easier to do that. “We’re just both trying to keep things on the down low for now, you know?”

“Does he _know_ you’re Spider-Man?” May asked.

Peter paused. May knew the handful of other people who knew Peter was Spider-Man. Peter decided best not to risk anything. “No,” he said, and at May’s continued lifted eyebrows, he added hurriedly, “But he knows I work for Stark Industries, so he kinda already assumes I’ve got a lot of stuff on my plate, work-wise.”

“Hm.” May remained looking skeptical, but then she said, “It’s your dating life, Peter, so I’m not going to interfere—” Peter let out a sigh of relief.

“ _But_ ,” May continued, giving Peter a pointed look, “I want you to be careful, alright?” She set her fork and knife down on her plate. “You’re always so sweet to everyone. I don’t want you getting your heart broken.”

Peter pressed his lips into a tight smile, ignoring the small kick of fear in his stomach. “Yeah, I know,” he said. “I won’t.”

\--

“So how’re you feeling?”

Peter shrugged, stealing a chip from MJ. “Didn’t break anything this time,” he said. “So that’s a plus.” He craned his neck for MJ. “And all of the worst bruises are gone now.” He leaned back on the park bench, stretched his arms over his head. “Tony got worse.”

“Yeah, dude, how’s he?” Ned asked from Peter’s other side. “Footage made it look like he got hit pretty bad.”

“Stitches,” Peter confirmed. He dropped his arms to his lap. “Morgan was really worried. And scared. She came back from school early.”

Ned winced. “Poor kid,” he said. “After Pepper—”

“Yeah,” Peter said, staring down at his hands. “I know.”

“Do you have any idea who this Green Goblin is?” MJ asked, offering Peter and Ned more chips. Peter’s stomach had twisted itself into knots, taking his appetite with it. He craned backwards for Ned to take some. When MJ tried offering him the bag again, he shook his head. “Do you remember anything weird before that freak popped up?”

Peter’s face flushed at the memory of Tony kissing him on the sidewalk. He was pretty sure that wasn’t exactly the detail that MJ was looking for, not that he would bother telling that part anyways. “Not really,” he said. “I was on break from SI the last time.”

“And the time before?” MJ asked, narrowing her eyes. “Green Goblin attacked pretty close to Stark Industries the first time, right?”

Peter grimaced, remembering the sudden shrieks outside of the building. “Yeah,” he said. “A lot of people got hurt.”

“Okay,” MJ said, propping herself up on an elbow against the top of the bench. She turned fully to Peter and Ned. “So both times, Green Goblin attacked near Stark Industries. That can’t be a coincidence, right?”

“Stark Industries is a pretty high profile area,” Ned pointed out. “There’s got to be plenty of weirdos around there all the time.” He glanced at Peter. “But security’s like, top-notch, right?”

“Duh,” Peter replied. He turned to MJ, who still didn’t look convinced.

“Maybe,” she said, “but there’s a difference between just your typical Tony Stark fanboys and whatever that _thing_ was, right?” She lowered her voice. “What does it want?” She gestured vaguely down the park. “I mean, are we seriously not going to think about how people are _always_ badgering Stark Industries for _something_?” Sticking out a hand, she said, ticking off her fingers, “Think about Obadiah Stane. And then Hammer Industries. And then Killian—” She dropped her hand. “I don’t know about you guys, but this Green Goblin situation looks weirdly familiar to everyone else’s formula of taking Stark down. Peter,” she said, leaning in towards Peter, “have you noticed _anything_ weird at work?”

“No,” Peter said. He looked between MJ and Ned, who had started chewing down on his bottom lip. “Guys, things have been fine at work. Really.”

“Are you _sure_?” MJ asked urgently. “Any new projects? Anything kept top secret?”

“ _No_ ,” Peter said, managing a short laugh. “We’re just working on things that Tony’s started—” He stopped short, suddenly remembering a certain meeting with a certain someone.

“What?” MJ asked, her eyes scanning Peter. “What is it?”

But it couldn’t—Harry wasn’t—Harry had been worried when Peter came in with the bruises. But then there was also that weird drive back to his apartment—the sudden mention of Spider-Man. Peter’s head spun.

“There was something,” Peter said slowly, his voice sounding too far away for his own ears. “Harry mentioned something about a new project he was working on.”

MJ stood up quickly. “It’s got to be him,” she said, and grabbing Peter and Ned by the wrists, she said, “Come _on_.”

“What are you doing?” Peter asked, and even with his spider genes, he was too caught off-guard to keep up with MJ, who had started breaking into a jog.

“What do you think we’re doing?” MJ asked. “We’re gonna dig up as much dirt as we can on Harry Osborn.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone's safe and well. I recently made a tumblr, where I'm posting some more starker drabbles during this quarantine time--you can find me @charonsdescent there as well. I already have two drabbles up, under the tag #snippets.
> 
> Also, as you may or may not have noticed, I've changed the rating to M as of now--only I will say that it'll change to E eventually. If you're not comfortable with that, you might want to skim past some parts in future chapters. 
> 
> As always. comments/kudos are always greatly appreciated!


	20. TWENTY

Morgan was making cards when Tony walked into the living room.

“What are those for?” Tony asked, starting the coffee machine. He tossed a glance at the mess of markers, crayons, and stickers scattered across the coffee table. Scraps of colored construction paper and sticky gems littered the carpet, and Tony hoped that Morgan had at least resisted from the glitter glue.

“I’m making birthday invitations,” Morgan said matter-of-factly.

Tony frowned. Morgan’s birthday wasn’t for at least a few more months—much too early for birthday cards. Still, he asked, “Just getting things done ahead of a deadline? Smart.”

Morgan turned around to Tony. “Exactly,” she said, and then, setting a sticker down on a folded up card, she added, “And if I send out the invitations early, then people _have_ to come.” Tony paused at that. Morgan’s face remained passive, but he caught the slightest tremble in her voice.

Something kicked at Tony’s chest at the realization that _of course_ , Morgan would want to send the birthday invitations early. As though sending out birthday invitations was some kind of way of the universe promising her that of course, people would be able to make it to her party before anything terrible happened.

“Okay,” Tony said. Taking his coffee, he made his way into the living room and sat down next to Morgan. Already, he saw cards written out for some of Morgan’s classmates, as well as cards written for Steve and Natasha.

“I’m gonna work on Thor’s and Bruce’s soon,” Morgan said dutifully, looking up at Tony. “But right now, I gotta work on Peter’s.” She held up the card she was currently working on. A stick figure of what Tony assumed was supposed to be Peter—mostly because of the mop of brown hair and the comically large smile—and Morgan graced the front cover. “I don’t know which stickers I want for him, though,” Morgan said, looking down at the roll of stickers next to her. “Which one do you think he’ll like?”

“He’ll like anything you choose for him,” Tony said.

Morgan beamed and plucked out a sticker of an ice cream cone. Placing one in stick-figure-Peter’s hand, she turned around to Tony and said seriously, “Because he always gets me ice cream.”

“I’m sure he’ll appreciate that,” Tony said. He propped himself up on an elbow against the coffee table. “Did you already write in the card?”

“Uh-huh,” Morgan said, flipping the card open proudly. In her uncannily neat handwriting, Tony read Morgan’s, _You’re Invited to Morgan Stark’s Birthday! Please come._ Tony’s eyes stayed on the last two words, feeling another kick to the chest.

“I don’t need to give the date because Peter already knows when my birthday is,” Morgan said, closing the card. She set it down on the coffee table. “I had to write them for everyone else, though. Some of my friends have _really_ bad memories. One of my friends can’t even remember what she had for _breakfast_.”

“I can’t remember what I have for breakfast,” Tony said lightly, though he kept looking down at the card. He made a mental note to schedule Morgan’s next grief counseling session.

“Yeah, but that’s different,” Morgan said. She reached for a marker and, uncapping it, asked, “Can we send out the cards today?”

“Sure,” Tony said automatically.

“But can we give Peter his right away?” Morgan asked, turning to Tony. “I wanna make sure he gets it.”

Tony forced a smile and, rubbing the top of Morgan’s head, said, “’Course we can. He’ll love it.”

At that, Morgan smiled, and she returned to the card. Tony watched her color a bright blue sky. There weren’t any clouds to be found, and when Tony looked at Morgan again, her smile had faded.

\--

That was how Tony found himself standing in front of May’s door. He had almost driven to Peter’s apartment first, but then, remembering that Peter was staying at his aunt’s, he had quickly changed course. “How do you know Peter’s staying with May?” Morgan had asked.

“We were talking last night,” Tony said. _Amongst other things_. He quickly shoved that thought of his head, schooling his expression into one of passivity as Morgan continued to talk about how she hoped that May hadn’t continued to watch _Avatar_ without her.

Now, Morgan bounced lightly on the tips of her toes in anticipation. “I hope he likes the card,” she told Tony,. “Do you think he’ll like it?”

“He’d like anything you make,” Tony replied, and pleased with that answer, Morgan turned back around to the door.

“What’s taking them so long?” she asked, and she started to lift her knuckles to the door to knock again, but before she could, the door swung open.

“Tony,” May said, surprised. “Didn’t expect you.”

“Sorry,” Tony said apologetically, glancing down at Morgan. “Morgan wanted to give out birthday invites.” He was grateful for the knowing smile that May gave Tony—May had to know that Morgan’s birthday was too far away to start giving out invitations, but still, she stepped aside.

“Of course,” May said. “Let me just get— _Peter!_ ” May turned back around to Morgan with a wink. “Someone’s here for you!”

Tony heard a distant _thump_ , followed by a series of clatters and cries of “wait!” and then “guys, it’s _fine_ ”. Tony looked over May in time to see Peter stagger out of his room, his cheeks lightly pink. His hair was swept in the way that told of Peter’s temporarily being outside, and Tony’s mind temporarily flashed to the idea of running his fingers through those curls—

 _Hold it together_ , Tony thought sternly to himself. _Behave_.

“Hey, you guys,” Peter said, reaching the doorway. “What’s up?”

“Surprise!” Morgan said, sticking out the card. Peter took it, and, flipping open the card, feigned surprise in a way that made Tony feel warm all over.

“No way!” Peter said, closing the card. He reached down and pulled Morgan into a quick hug. “Can’t wait.”

“You’re really coming, right?” Morgan said, pulling away temporarily to look up at Peter. “Promise?”

“Pinky promise,” Peter said, latching his pinky around Morgan’s. Just as he straightened, Tony heard the distant thud of a door hitting the wall, and then—

“Peter, what’s going—oh. Hey, Mr. Stark.” MJ and Ned both stopped short behind Peter.

“Afternoon,” Tony replied. “Sorry, was I interrupting—”

“No, not at all,” Ned said quickly before Peter could say anything. “Things are _totally_ casual here. Right?” He turned to MJ, who nodded slowly.

Tony looked again at Peter, whose smile had frozen in place. “Yeah,” he said. “Things are—totally cool.” He smiled, but Tony had watched Peter long enough to notice the strain where it existed. “Um,” Peter said quickly, turning around to MJ and Ned, “look at what Morgan gave me, you guys.”

The two instantly jumped on the invitation as though it was the most interesting thing in the world. “Wow,” Ned said, looking at Morgan. “Awesome, Morgan.”

“Why haven’t we gotten one?” MJ asked lightly, and Morgan smiled guiltily.

“You guys will get yours soon,” she said. “I just needed to give one to Peter first. He pinky promised me to come.”

“A pinky promise,” MJ said, impressed. “Now _that’s_ serious.” She handed the card back to Peter. “Looks like you totally have to go.”

“Already marked in my calendar,” Peter said, taking the card.

“So what are you three up to?” Tony asked, clearing his throat. “Up to no good?” He had expected a laugh, but instead, there was a silence. Ned looked at MJ, and MJ looked at Peter, and Peter—well, Peter seemed to be looking at everyone and everything except for Tony.

Finally, MJ said, “We were—”

“Looking for—”

Both MJ and Ned faltered, looking at Peter—probably to finish whatever they were going to say, but Peter said nothing. May turned around to look at them too, her expression, Tony imagined, matching the one on Tony’s own face.

Finally, Ned whispered, “What was it we’re looking for?”

Though Tony had only met MJ a few times, the look that MJ wore on her face now looked like one of total embarrassment—something that Tony didn’t think was possible for the young woman. “Um,” MJ said, her eyes darting to Peter, whose jaw only clenched. “We were looking for—”

“Guys,” Peter said suddenly, pushing himself off the wall, “do you guys mind taking Morgan out for ice cream?”

There was another silence, and then, as though someone had flipped on a switch, MJ and Ned were nodding their heads like bobble-heads.

“Yeah, sure—”

“Come on, Morgan—”

“May?” Peter looked at his aunt pleadingly. For a minute, Tony thought May would refuse. Her arms were crossed over her chest, and her eyebrows were lifted in a way that Tony knew meant that there were probably some words just waiting to come out. (And Tony knew that for a fact because he had been on the receiving end a few more times than he’d like to admit.)

But May dropped her arms. “Sure,” she said at last. Then, taking one of Morgan’s hands, she said, “Come on, kiddo. What flavor are you thinking about?”

As everyone left the apartment, Peter’s shoulders seemed to bunch tighter and tighter together. It wasn’t until everyone had gone down the stairs did Tony finally say, “So what’s going on?”

Peter let out a breath. “MJ thinks—well, _we_ think that Green Goblin might be someone inside Stark Industries.”

Tony blinked. “What?”

“We don’t know for sure,” Peter said quickly. “But um—it’s just that Green Goblin’s attacked near Stark Industries, and there’s some stuff…”

“Do you know _who_?” Tony asked, and Peter looked down at the ground. “ _Peter_.” The ground was spinning from underneath him. Someone at _Stark Industries_. God, Tony was out of the picture for just a few months, and _this_ was what happened—

“Tony,” Peter said, and he suddenly appeared in front of Tony, big brown worried eyes and all. Tony became dimly aware of hands wrapped around his wrists. “I didn’t—I don’t want you to worry—”

“A little too late for that,” Tony said. “Come on, come on,” he muttered, trying to tangle his wrists out of Peter’s grip, but Peter held fast. “Peter,” he started to say, but Peter kept holding on. “You know, don’t you?”

There was a silence.

“ _Peter_.”

“It’s Harry.”

Tony’s head ached. His head flooded with Rhodey’s warnings, and then the phone call from Peter about Harry maybe knowing about Spider-Man—Tony started to pull away from Peter’s grip, but Peter yanked him back. “Let go,” Tony said at last.

“No.”

“You’re telling me that Green Goblin is sitting at Stark Industries _right now_ ,” Tony said through gritted teeth. “You’re _working_ there.”

“I didn’t want to tell you—”

“Why?” Tony snapped his head up. The exchanged looks between MJ and Ned suddenly made sense. “Your friends knew, didn’t they?” When Peter didn’t answer, Tony asked, his voice getting louder, “You didn’t want to let me know.”

“I didn’t want to stress you out—”

“Why?” Tony snapped. “I think I should know if someone like the Green Goblin was sitting in my _fucking_ company—” He hated how Peter suddenly flinched, wished that Peter would just let go of him, but no, Peter still stayed. Of course he would. Typical Peter Parker fashion, Tony thought bitterly.

“You would have done the same for me.” Peter squeezed Tony’s wrists, moved his hands down so they would fit in Tony’s. His fingers found Tony’s, warm and smooth. It sent a rush right up Tony’s arms, made Tony wish both that he could hold on and let go.

“Can’t say that,” Tony said at last. “We’ve never been the same position.”

Peter looked at Tony dead in the eye. “The Vulture.”

“You were fifteen,” Tony said automatically. “That was different.” And it _was_ , Tony sending the FBI because he wasn’t about to let a fifteen year old kid take on some high-level threat. Peter had been fifteen, and that had still been when Tony felt like he had a little more control over what could happen between the two. Back when Peter was just an overenthusiastic, stubborn—well, Peter was still stubborn.

“Semantics,” Peter argued now. “Technicalities, and you know it.”

“Stubborn,” Tony shot back.

Peter lifted his eyes up at Tony. “So I’m right?” There was something new flickering across Peter’s face, across his eyes. A dangerous implication, the kind of implication that made Tony swallow.

“Don’t,” Tony warned. “You’re not allowed to flirt. No flirting.”

Peter squeezed Tony’s hands. “What if I’m not just flirting?”

 _Fuck_.

Tony lowered his eyes to Peter’s lips, forced himself to meet Peter’s eyes—those big brown eyes that had suddenly turned almost teasing, but not just the playful kind. The kind that Tony felt like he was going to get lost if he stared too long. “Peter,” Tony started to say, the name just scratching the back of his throat.

Peter tugged at Tony’s wrists, and Tony let himself fall forward. “Nearest ice cream shop is a twenty minute walk away,” he said. He glanced over his shoulder at a clock. “And we’ve only been talking for a few minutes.” He tilted his head at Tony, a slow smile spreading across his lips. God, Peter’s _lips_. “Factor in Morgan’s choosing time, and everyone else’s choosing time, and then the walk back…” He lowered his hands from Tony’s wrists to Tony’s waist, slipped his hands in Tony’s jean pockets, and Tony didn’t argue as Peter pulled again.

“So, Tony,” Peter said, lifting his head up to Tony. “What if I’m not just flirting?”

 _Dangerous,_ Tony thought. He batted the thought away. “Idiot,” he whispered, and then he let himself fall into Peter, let Peter drag him into the apartment, let Peter close the door behind themselves, let Peter fall back against the wall.

“Learned everything from you,” Peter said, and Tony could feel that curved smile in his lips, could feel the laugh bubbling up in him. “So this is all on you. All for you.” Tony felt Peter’s hands move away from his pockets, felt them move to the front of Tony’s jeans.

“Peter,” Tony mumbled, letting his hand fall to Peter’s. He parted from Peter for the briefest of moments, trying to catch his breath. “Don’t want you getting in trouble.”

“You won’t,” Peter said. He flicked his eyes down, and Tony knew that Peter could see the betrayal that was the bulge in his pants. “They’re still gone.” His hand was suddenly hovering right over where Tony’s cock would be, and Tony sucked in a sharp breath.

“Didn’t…” Tony swallowed, trying to maintain his breath as Peter’s fingers wandered. “Pin you down to be the type to initiate.”

“Well,” Peter said, lifting his eyes at Tony, “there’s lots of stuff you didn’t figure out about me, right?” Tony felt the button being undone, the slow pull of a zipper. Peter hadn’t broken eye contact with Tony. “Do you want to find out?”

Tony swallowed. _Dangerous_ , he thought again.

“Yes,” he said hoarsely, and the smile Peter gave him made him forget what the danger was to begin with. He let himself fall back against the opposite wall, not even caring at the sharp jab of pain down his back, not with Peter inching down Tony’s jeans.

“This is payback, you know,” Peter murmured, and Tony inhaled sharply as he felt lips ghosting over his navel, felt Peter’s hands gripping his hips. “Last night. Right before I took a shower.”

Tony tilted his head back against the wall as Peter’s lips dipped down, down, down. “You did it first,” Tony managed to say. “You brought it up. You— _ah_ …” He temporarily forgot how to speak as Peter pressed his mouth against Tony’s front, wetting the already-damp surface. Tony’s hand shot out before he could help himself, and he found Peter’s curls, heard the little laugh Peter gave against his cock, which—

“You’re killing me,” Tony said, giving a little shudder as Peter slipped his thumbs around Tony’s briefs. “Peter—”

“Told you it’s payback,” Peter said, and then Tony heard the faintest thump of knees hitting floorboards, only had a second to brace himself as the briefs went down, and then he felt Peter—it was _Peter_ , _Peter’s tongue_ gently lapping up the tip of Tony’s cock. Tony gripped at the wall with his other hand, feeling the long-since hardened paint get under his fingernails as tongue was traded for lips, and then Peter was taking him in—just barely, just enough for Tony to let out a strangled groan.

Peter was slow at first, moving at a teasing pace that made Tony tangle his fingers into Peter’s curls harder. His head was still ringing with the fact that this was Peter on his knees in front of him, Peter who was taking him with worshipful eyes, Peter who had his hands gripping Tony’s hips hard enough to bruise.

Peter, the same person who still talked for hours on end about _Star Wars_ and preferred to dry instead of wash dishes and got embarrassed when Tony had started moving Peter’s _underwear_ —this was the same Peter who was making Tony forget how to breathe and think.

As though sensing Tony’s thoughts, Peter picked up the pace, went a little deeper. Tony let go of the wall and moved his other hand to Peter’s hair, tried to move his hips to meet Peter’s mouth, but Peter’s hands were firm, the message clear: _mine_.

Tony couldn’t stop the throaty groan that left his lips as Peter hummed, which— _fuck_ , that accelerated things more than Tony anticipated. “You…” Tony managed to say, letting one of his hands fall down to the back of Peter’s neck, right where the last curl brushed against skin, “ _you_.”

Peter only withdrew for the smallest second, just enough to ask, “Good?”

And Tony nodded, because yes, _yes_ , it was good, too good, and he could only whisper “don’t stop” before Peter was taking him faster now, and he had loosened his grip on Tony’s hips just enough for him to start moving against Peter, just enough for Tony and just enough for Peter to start whimpering—a gentle mewling that sent shivers rushing up Tony’s spine.

Peter’s hands crawled up from Tony’s hips, wrapped around just at the lower half of Tony’s back. _Closer_ , _closer_.

Tony only too quickly obliged, and now he was standing almost directly above Peter, practically rutting into Peter’s mouth, and he felt the vibrations of Peter’s groan straight up his cock, felt as though he was winding tighter and tighter, and—

“ _Fuck_ ,” Tony hissed. “Peter, I’m gonna—” But too late, he was coming straight into Peter’s mouth. Tony’s hips stuttered, his grip on Peter’s hair loosened, and he heard the guttural moans from Peter below him. Tony swallowed, let his hands trail down the back of Peter’s neck, touch Peter’s shoulders as he slowly sank down in front of Peter.

Peter’s face was pink, his eyes bright, as he leaned into Tony, his forehead resting right at Tony’s shoulder. Tony could feel Peter’s hot, light breaths right on his collarbone. Tony smelled citrus again, and he closed his eyes, letting his head dip down to Peter’s shoulder.

Finally, Peter spoke. “So that doesn’t count as flirting, does it?”

Tony smiled against Peter’s shoulder. “Definitely not.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was my first time writing a blow job, so I hope it wasn't...terrible?? *runs away and hides in a closet*
> 
> As always, comments/kudos are greatly appreciated!


	21. TWENTY-ONE

By the time everyone came back, Peter had Tony cleaned up. They splashed water over each other, desperately trying to cool off their equally hot faces. Peter toweled Tony’s face, caught an extra kiss right before they heard the door open.

“You first,” Tony said, plucking the towel out of Peter’s hand. He nodded at the bathroom door, and Peter took the hint. He wasn’t sure exactly how May or his friends would react if both Tony and Peter walked out of the bathroom at the same time, and Peter’s brain was still too foggy to think up of a clear excuse.

“Hey,” Peter said just as everyone tumbled into the apartment. “Got anything good?”

“MJ likes _pistachio_ ,” Morgan declared, shooting MJ an accusatory look.

MJ placed a hand at her collarbone in mock offense. “I’ll have _you_ know that pistachio is _good_ ,” she said. She dropped her other hand against Morgan’s head and gave her a solemn pat. “One day, you will learn, and you will know that pistachio reigns supreme.”

“Good luck with trying to convince her that,” Tony said, stepping out of the bathroom. Peter only risked a quick glance at Tony before looking away, already feeling warmth creep up his cheeks. Not now, he decided. Too soon. “Pretty sure she’ll be a peppermint stick girl for life.”

“Nothing wrong with that,” May said lightly. “Some consistency is always great. And it makes things easy.” She gave a pointed look at Ned, who smiled sheepishly.

“There’s a lot of choices,” Ned said, stretching out his hands. “Any normal person would be overwhelmed.”

“He took _forever_ ,” Morgan said, looking up at Tony. “Like, _forever_ forever.”

“Five minutes,” Ned protested.

“More like ten,” MJ said.

“Which is nine minutes longer than it should be,” May added.

Ned threw up his hands. “You guys just don’t appreciate ice cream.”

“Well, Daddy takes too long to choose, too,” Morgan said, looking guilty for the sudden onslaught on Ned. She looked over at Tony. “Remember last time?”

“I do _not_ —”

“You kinda do,” Peter mused, ignoring the way his heart skipped as Tony shot him a mock wounded look. “You’re picky.”

“I’m _selective_ ,” Tony said. “I only take the best.” He gave Peter a lopsided smile, and Peter had to tear his eyes away before he could linger on him too long.

“Anyways,” Tony said now, clapping his hands, “that’s probably our signal to go before anyone spills any more of my secrets. Come on, Morgan. Let’s figure out how to send that invite to Thor.” Peter watched Tony walk to the door, wait patiently for Morgan to re-tie her shoelaces. “Nice seeing you, everybody. Don’t work too hard.”

At that, MJ and Ned shot Peter a surprised look— _you told him?_ their eyes seemed to say, but Peter shrugged. _Later_.

“Call you later,” Peter called before he could stop himself. At that, Tony paused for just a brief moment before throwing Peter another lopsided smile, and then Morgan and he were gone.

The second the door clicked to a close, MJ and Ned spun back around to Peter. “Did you _tell_ him?” Ned asked, disbelieved. “After you told us _not_ to—”

“I know, I know,” Peter winced. “Sorry. He just—I mean, it’s his company, you know? Keeping him in the dark was a bad idea.”

“Told you,” MJ said grimly.

“What exactly needed to be told?” May asked, and at that, Peter, MJ, and Ned all exchanged guilty glances. Peter hadn’t bothered to tell May about the situation either—then again, Peter’s mind had already been reeling at about a million miles a minute, but now that Tony knew, it seemed cruel to keep May out of the situation. Especially since May agreed to getting Morgan ice cream.

“We think Harry Osborn might be Green Goblin,” Peter said at last.

May paled. “You _think_ , or you know?”

“Um…” Peter looked over at MJ and Ned. “Maybe seventy-thirty chance of Harry being Green Goblin.”

“More like eighty-twenty,” MJ said. She nodded in Peter’s direction. “Apparently, Peter forgot to mention that Harry was trying to pitch Peter a weird idea about human enhancements. And Green Goblin doesn’t exactly strike anyone as a total alien, no matter how messed up and freaky that thing looks. And,” MJ added before Peter could open his mouth, “apparently he’s dropped some creepy hints about knowing that Peter’s Spider-Man.”

“I could have just been looking into it too much,” Peter suggested, but everyone looked unimpressed. “Or not,” he said, sinking into the couch. “I don’t know.”

“So that’s what you guys have been doing this whole time?” May asked, pointing at Peter’s closed bedroom door.

“We were—well, _Ned_ was trying to hack into Harry’s personal files,” MJ said. Her face darkened. “Turns out it’s harder than we thought.”

“I almost got it,” Ned said, already moving for Peter’s bedroom. He reappeared with his laptop. “Or, I mean, we can look at other files regarding Harry’s family.” He looked up. “Harry’s dad got arrested for crimes against human innovation.” At Peter’s lifted eyebrows, Ned shrugged. “That’s what a headline said.” He plopped down next to Peter. “Look,” he said, and with a click, he opened up an article.

MJ and May walked around Peter and Ned, and they all looked at Ned’s screen—sure enough, a _New York Times_ article with the headline, _Norman Osborn Arrested for Crimes Against Human Innovation_. Peter checked the date. “That’s, like, twenty years ago, though,” Peter said, looking at Ned. “Whatever Norman Osborn did, he had to be in jail when Harry was, like, a baby. Whatever Norman was working on, he can’t have seriously passed everything down to Harry, right?”

“But Harry’s crazy smart, isn’t he?” MJ said, furrowing her brow. “You said he wasn’t that much older than us—and the CEO of Stark Industries?” She let out a soft huff, leaning over Peter’s shoulder to get a better look at the article. “Wouldn’t be surprised if Harry somehow got a hold of his dad’s old research.”

“Does the article say anything about what Norman was doing, exactly?” Peter asked hastily, already reaching for Ned’s laptop.

“Hold on, dude,” Ned said, slapping Peter’s hand out of the way. “My laptop, my rules.” He scrolled down the article, allowing Peter to catch onto what little snatches of information he could find. Disappointed, Peter leaned back against the couch.

“Nothing,” he said at last, when Ned had reached the bottom of the article.

“It says something about biological experiments,” Ned offered, but there was a slight dip in his voice, too.

“Check for the author of the article,” MJ said. “Maybe they left out more than they know.” At Peter and Ned’s quizzical looks, she rolled her eyes. “Just because it’s the news doesn’t mean that the whole truth is there,” she said. “Honestly.”

Ned scrolled back to the top of the article and frowned. “No author,” he said.

“Must have been anonymous for security reasons,” May mused.

“Back to square one, then,” Peter muttered.

“Not necessarily,” May said, squeezing Peter’s shoulder. “I mean, you guys have this information on Norman, right?” She nodded at Ned’s screen. “Biological experiments and Green Goblin sound like they’re playing around the same field.”

“May’s right,” MJ said, earning an appreciative look from May. “We’ll figure it out. That’s already something we’ve got on Harry. We just need to figure out something a little more solid. Which we will.” She slid down to sit on Peter’s other side. “We’ll figure this out.”

“I just…” Peter’s voice drifted as everyone focused on him. “I mean, Harry might have been a little weird during the drive and stuff, but he seems so _nice_.”

At that, MJ’s face softened. “Listen,” she said, squeezing Peter’s arm, “I know that you want to like everyone, but we can’t take any chances.”

Peter’s heart sank. “You really think it’s him?”

MJ nodded.

Peter looked up at May and Ned, who were wearing looks of equal apprehension. Peter sighed. “Fine,” he said wearily. “Onwards, then.”

\--

“So what’s the deal with you and Tony?” MJ asked, tossing Peter a pair of chopsticks. They were all sprawled out on the living room floor, surrounded by plastic bags and containers of egg rolls and noodles. At around eight, everyone’s stomachs had started growling loud enough for everyone else to hear, and at that point, May had folded and ordered takeout. The apartment smelled not unpleasantly of oil and spices, and May had cracked open a window just wide enough for the smell to remain that way.

“What do you mean?” Peter asked now, concentrating on his chopsticks. He busily dug into his container of noodles. “We were just talking.”

“Seemed pretty serious,” MJ noted. When Peter looked up at her, MJ was already going back into her container, her face frustratingly nonchalant in the usual MJ fashion. 

“Yeah, dude,” Ned said, picking out an egg roll. “You guys looked so serious when we left, and when we came back, you guy were all buddy-buddy again.”

Peter swallowed too hard on his noodles and, coughing, he reached for his water bottle. He took a few quick sips and managed to ask, “What do you _mean_?”

“They just mean you two looked back to normal,” May said, patting Peter’s back once. “Also, careful—don’t eat too fast.”

“Sorry,” Peter croaked. He wiped a hand over his mouth and said, “We just talked, I guess.” He returned to his noodles, careful not to make eye contact with anyone— _especially_ MJ, whose eyes were boring into Peter’s forehead. “He was worried and kinda mad that I didn’t tell him sooner, but I mean…I couldn’t hide this from him, you know? And he gets it. Kind of.”

“Kind of?” MJ asked.

Peter swallowed down his noodles without chewing. He considered it a gift from the universe that he didn’t choke again. “I mean, he’s still…things are still weird.” He risked a quick glance at MJ, whose eyes remained as dark and passive as ever. He looked away quickly to Ned instead. “That’s normal, though. I mean, I’d be pissed off if I found out someone could potentially be wrecking the city while taking over my company.”

“And you guys settled it just like that?” Ned asked, letting out a low whistle. “I thought there would be more Tony Stark angst.”

“Dude,” Peter said, feeling a twinge of annoyance. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

At Peter’s look, Ned said quickly, “Not in a bad way. But just…he can get kinda intense sometimes. And I mean, he’s gone through a lot of stuff, so like, we get it, but I don’t know—I kinda was surprised that you guys wrapped things up as fast as you did. Not that that’s a bad thing!”

“It’s great that you two were able to settle things without a big fight,” May said, looking over at Peter. “God knows you’ve broken each other’s hearts enough.”

Peter tried to school his features into one of nonchalance as he said, “I guess.” He looked back down at his noodles and tried to ignore the fact that MJ was still watching him.

\--

“Alright,” Peter said, stretching his arms over his head. “We’ve been looking for stuff for _hours_ , and we’re not getting anywhere at this rate.”

“But I _swear_ I’ve almost got it—”

“Ned,” MJ groaned, throwing Ned a pillow, “Peter’s right. We’ll start over tomorrow.”

Before Ned could argue, May poked her head into the bedroom. “I thought I heard you three,” she said. She tossed toothbrushes to both MJ and Ned, adding, “I had a feeling you two were going to stick around. You’re welcome to stay here, but I’ve made up the couch in case you guys would feel more comfortable there.”

“Thanks,” MJ and Ned said in unison, and May smiled.

“Just don’t stay up too late,” she said. “The world won’t implode if you three go to sleep.” With that, she left the doorway, leaving Peter and MJ to look pointedly at Ned.

“Fine,” Ned grumbled, shutting off his laptop. “But I’m calling the bathroom first. My breath _stinks_.”

“Of course, your Highness,” MJ said, amused, as Ned walked out of the room. The second the door closed behind him, MJ whirled around to Peter.

“ _So_ ,” she said.

Peter’s stomach pitched as he pushed Ned’s laptop into its charger. “So?” he asked.

“What’s up with you and Tony?”

“Nothing,” Peter said, wincing at how quickly he responded. “I mean—what do you want me to say? We’re fine. He’s fine.”

MJ folded her arms over her chest. “Really.”

“ _Yes,_ really,” Peter said.

“Because you two seemed _incredibly_ relaxed when we came back,” MJ continued, perching herself on the edge of Peter’s desk. She looked right at Peter. “Come on, Parker. Don’t bullshit me.”

Peter swallowed “I don’t know what you want me to tell you,” he said, his mind frantically running over every little detail of what happened when everyone had returned with Morgan. “We talked. We figured things out. We’re good. And you guys were gone for a long time, so I mean, maybe time just settled the rest.”

“Time,” MJ deadpanned. She leaned in towards Peter, arms still across her chest. Peter had a sudden image of MJ dressed in an expensive pantsuit, probably leaning across a witness’ stand in the same manner that she did now. _So, Mr. Parker, please tell the court what exactly happened while Ms. Jones, Mr. Leeds, and Ms. Parker left the apartment._

“It’s not as crazy as you might think, you know,” Peter said. “Tony’s a normal person too.”

“That’s not what this is about,” MJ said. She let her arms drop to her sides, her fingers just lightly holding onto the edge of Peter’s desk. Her face softened, and suddenly she went from lawyer to friend in those few seconds, back when Peter would come back to his dorm, and MJ would be waiting up for him. “Listen,” she said. “I had suspicions when you were texting Tony while he was in Korea, and then we find out that you’re staying with Tony after the Green Goblin attack, _and_ the latest footage of Green Goblin was with you and Tony, and now you expect me to act like I totally couldn’t tell that you just had sex?”

Peter’s face flushed. “ _MJ_ —we didn’t—”

“Where did you even _do_ it?” MJ asked. She suddenly stood up and looked around the room, horrified. “Did you guys do it _here_?” Before Peter could answer, she shook her head. “No, you would have washed your sheets right after, and there was no way you could wash them in time. So not here. Wait, the living room? _God_ , we were just _eating_ there—”

“ _MJ_ ,” Peter interrupted, clamping a hand over MJ’s mouth. MJ, thankfully, stopped talking, but a moment later, Peter felt something slick and warm against his palm, and he cringed back.

“Did you just _lick_ my hand?” Peter asked, wiping his hand against his jeans.

“Did _you_ have sex with Tony Stark?” MJ fired back.

“I didn’t—we didn’t—” Peter’s voice faltered as MJ stared at him. Then, bowing his head, he muttered, “Hallway.”

“Oh, _God_ ,” MJ groaned, pushing her hands to her face. “ _Peter_.”

“Don’t tell anyone!” Peter said hurriedly. “ _Please_ , MJ, I _know_ this looks bad—”

“ _Looks_ bad?” MJ asked, dropping her hands. “Peter, I’ve got _nothing_ against dating older guys, but he’s, like, your dad! He’s known you since _high school_!” Her lips parted, and then, in a terrified whisper, she asked, “You guys didn’t…”

“ _No_ ,” Peter said quickly, shaking his head. “This is…new. Fairly new.” He paused. “Like, a month and a half new?” He looked at MJ accusatorily. “And what do you mean, since _Korea_?”

MJ snorted. “You were giving these moony eyes when you were talking about Tony then,” she said. “And I _know_ they’re moony eyes because—” She stopped short, and this time, but Peter and MJ looked down at the ground. _Because Peter used to look that way when he talked about MJ_.

 _Sea and stars_ , Peter thought. Loving MJ and Tony were different.

“Please don’t tell anyone,” Peter finally said. “He—I—” He gestured helplessly. “We’re okay.”

“How is this okay?” MJ asked, pushing herself off the desk. She took a step towards Peter, her eyes searching Peter’s face. “ _Peter_. Listen, you’ve always liked Tony, and Tony…well,” she bit down on her lip. “It’s _Tony_. Like Ned said. He’s…been through some stuff.”

Peter’s chest tightened. “So have I,” he said.

“I know,” MJ said. “I _know_. But Peter, he lost Pepper a _year_ ago. That’s gotta be…I don’t know.” For what felt like the first time ever, MJ’s words seemed to come out in short, tentative halts. “How do you know for sure? He goes from zero to a hundred in just a few months? _Peter_ ,” MJ said, trying to meet Peter’s eyes, “just a few months ago, you two could barely talk to each other. You said things were _bad_. And now you seriously want to tell me that everything’s fine between you two?”

“I don’t know!” Peter said, backing away from MJ. He spun on his heel, faced the wall. “I don’t know,” he repeated. “He—” Peter lowered his head, dug his nails into his palm. “He’s doing okay,” he said, but even in his own ears, he sounded uncertain. Shaky. Everything felt shaky. Peter closed his eyes, suddenly tired.

And suddenly, Peter was brought back to Tony’s living room, his forehead resting on Tony’s shoulder. Feeling Tony, breathing Tony in as he said, “This is dangerous territory.”

And Peter had said, “But is it bad that I don’t mind?”

MJ sighed behind Peter. “I know you want to help him, but—”

“This isn’t about _helping_ him,” Peter said, whirling around. “That isn’t it at all.”

“Really?” MJ asked. “You’ve got a _big_ heart, Peter, and that’s so _good_ , but—are you sure? Is _he_ sure?” She pressed her lips together. “I know you care about him, and he _obviously_ cares about you, but what if you get hurt? What if you _both_ get hurt?” She leaned back against the desk again. “Are you really ready to have this blow up your relationship with him?”

Peter felt as though someone had ripped the floor under his feet. He imagined suddenly not being able to talk to Tony again, not being able to look him in the eye. The coldness settling in between them. “That won’t happen,” Peter said. “He won’t hurt me.”

“Are you sure?” MJ asked softly. “He might not mean to, and he might not want to, but are you _sure_?”

Peter looked down at his hands. “Just…don’t tell anyone,” he said. He lifted his head back up to MJ. “Please? Just until we figure this out.”

MJ’s brows furrowed together. “Peter…”

“ _Please_ ,” Peter said, his voice cracking. “I—he…”

“Do you love him?” MJ’s voice was quiet.

Peter looked at MJ. There was no skepticism on her face, just a tired kind of hurt. Not the kind of hurt that stemmed from jealousy, either. This was the kind of hurt that Peter saw on MJ’s face when he would stagger back to his dorm with some new injury, or when Peter would stay up too late.

And it hurt Peter, too, seeing MJ hurt.

“Well?” MJ asked. “Do you?”

“Always have,” Peter said, and those words felt so natural and familiar that Peter wondered how long he had been waiting to say them. And suddenly, his head was swirling with all the times he was working with Tony in the tower, then in the Compound, then in the garage. All the times he had looked up at Tony, smiled, felt at home. All the times he had fallen straight into Tony’s arms, all the times he had caught himself drifting off on Tony’s shoulder, all those times even long before anything started.

Peter looked at MJ. “Is that really stupid?”

Peter expected MJ to nod, say, “Bad idea. Stupid.”

But instead, MJ only reached forward, squeezed Peter’s hand. “Don’t get your heart broken, Parker,” was all she said, and then she left the bedroom.

\--

Peter waited until MJ and Ned were asleep before he crept out of the apartment. He snuck out through the fire escape, crawled up to the rooftop. The night air was cold and stung Peter’s hands, but he didn’t care. If anything, he welcomed the sudden chill, which was a welcome relief from the heat that had clustered in Peter’s small bedroom.

After MJ had walked out, Peter had thought that she was going to leave the apartment, but she returned a few minutes after Ned, her hair loosened from its ponytail and her face a mask of total calm. “You guys better not snore,” was all she said, and Peter had felt something like gratefulness squeeze at his chest, but MJ still didn’t look at him as she slid into one of the spare sleeping bags that May had wound up bringing in.

Now, Peter hovered at the rooftop, waiting for Tony to pick up.

“How’s the search going?” Tony asked at the first ring.

“It’s going,” Peter said. “Ned keeps thinking he’s going to break through something, but then we just wind up going back to square one.”

“Well, I’ve been doing some digging of my own,” Tony said, and Peter’s heart jumped.

“You don’t have to—”

“Pete.”

“Yeah,” Peter said, letting out a breath. “Did you find anything?”

“Not a whole ton,” Tony confessed. “But FRIDAY’s been working at it. I think we might have a decent shot at catching a snippet of what one of Norman’s lab workers said in court.” He paused and then, he added, “You guys could come up here, you know. Get some work done that way.”

Peter sank down to the rooftop. “Really?” he asked. “But—”

“There’s plenty of room here,” Tony said. “And FRIDAY’s faster than Ned’s computer.”

“True,” Peter admitted.

“So,” Tony said.

“So.”

“Tomorrow?”

Peter remembered MJ’s serious face, the hard look she had given him as she asked, “are you _sure_?”

Peter tightened his grip on his phone, forced MJ’s face out of his mind. “We’ll be there.”

\--

When Peter got back into his bedroom, MJ was awake.

“Who was that?” she whispered.

Peter paused, sliding into his bed. “Tony,” he said at last. He waited for one heartbeat, two, and then added, “He’s invited us to his place tomorrow. He thinks FRIDAY could help us get some more information.”

“That’s nice,” MJ said.

Peter rolled over on his side, finding MJ’s face in the dark. “Are you mad at me?”

MJ looked at Peter. “No,” she said after some time. “Just worried.” She rolled away from Peter, and that was that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh yeah. it's all coming together now. 
> 
> As always, kudos/comments are always greatly appreciated! Ya girl is now in quarantine, so the only thing I've been doing all day is finishing up this fic. (I have 1.5 more chapters of this to write wOW.)


	22. TWENTY-TWO

“This is wild,” were Ned’s first words when he walked into the garage. He slowly spun around in a circle, his eyes wide and reflecting all of the blue screens that lit up the area. “How long did it take to wire FRIDAY into this place?”

“Not too long,” Tony said, and when Ned looked at him, he smiled. “Maybe a few hours.”

“A few _hours_ ,” Ned repeated in awe. He turned to Peter. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Never came up,” Peter said nonchalantly, leaning against one of the garage walls. He looked at Tony. “So…you said something about FRIDAY getting something from one of Norman’s scientists?”

“Something like that,” Tony replied, and he swiped past a screen, revealing an image of a tattered napkin.

MJ was the one who walked forward first, her arms crossed over her shoulders and eyes narrowed. “So you nerds actually communicate via napkins?” she asked, glancing at Peter.

“I don’t know,” Peter said, looking at Tony. “Do we?”

“ _I_ don’t,” Tony said. He nodded at the image. “But this guy did.”

“Do we know who this person is?” Peter asked, walking towards the image.

“No name to be found,” Tony replied. “But that journalist of yours who wrote the piece on Norman’s tricks? This was apparently in one of his files regarding the article.” He zoomed in on the image. The writing on the napkin was difficult to read—really nothing more than a few scribbles. “FRIDAY, give us a quick read on that, will you?”

“Cold blood,” Friday instantly read. “Lizard. Reptile. Serum.”

Peter turned to Tony, eyes wide. “That—”

“Sounds awfully similar to what might be happening to our Green Goblin pal, right?” Tony said grimly. “Thought so, too.”

“But the article didn’t mention anything about lizards or serums,” Ned said.

“Well, duh,” MJ said. “Probably didn’t want to create a panic. Told you, just because it’s news doesn’t mean the whole truth is out there.”

“Point for MJ,” Tony said, but MJ just frowned and turned back around to the image.

“But is that enough to pin Green Goblin down on Harry?” Peter asked. He leaned against a workbench, facing Tony. “I mean, let’s say that we bring this up to the executives or whatever. Harry could just…say that this was his dad, right? He might be able to say that he has nothing to do with this.”

“And therein lies our problem,” Tony said, nodding at the image. “That could count as supplementary evidence, but we need more.”

“Supplementary evidence?” Peter repeated, a smile tugging at his lips.

“Yeah,” Tony replied. “Impressed with my new lingo?”

Peter only turned back around to the image and, but Tony could tell from the way he twined his fingers together that he was, indeed, impressed with the new lingo. Tony smirked to himself and leaned against an opposite workbench. But then he remembered that MJ and Ned were still in the garage, and he quickly schooled his smirk into a frown.

He was getting too relaxed, Tony knew, even though he technically should be more wound up than ever. But Tony found himself staring at the back of Peter’s head, imaging his fingers carding through those curls. He curled one of his hands, just feeling those soft hairs under his skin—

Tony had been grateful that Morgan talked the whole ride home yesterday. He had been grateful that Morgan was tired shortly after, and that she went to her room to have some private time. He had gone back to his own room, taken a shower and imagined Peter’s mouth again, so soft and supple and _willing_ , and Tony had groaned against the tiled wall, wishing that Peter was in there with him.

And now Peter was in the garage, standing less than two footsteps away from Tony, and Peter was wearing a sweater that just hovered over his waist, revealing the slightest bit of skin.

 _Fuck_ , Tony thought, forcing himself to concentrate on the image. He felt like a horny teenager again, getting wound up over the smallest things—but back when he was a horny teenager or a horny twentysomething, he at least had some control. He had been the star in everyone’s sky back then. _He_ had been the one who called the shots, had been so well aware of how people went to him with clothes already half off.

But Tony hadn’t been the one to feel like he was the helpless one, just waiting for someone to turn around and _give him attention_.

Except maybe with Pepper—

But it _wasn’t_ like Pepper. Peter wasn’t like Pepper.

Tony jerked his eyes to a different diagram—anything, really, to keep Peter out of his line of vision now, because the shame was coming fast and quick. _Dangerous_ , a voice chanted in Tony’s head. _Dangerous, dangerous, dangerous_.

But Peter wasn’t Pepper, and Pepper wasn’t Peter. Where Pepper had been grounded, Peter was free floating. Comparing them would be like comparing the earth and sky.

The sound of Peter’s phone ringing broke the silence.

“Who is it?” Ned asked, looking away from a diagram.

There was a silence as Peter held out his phone, and then he lifted his head, eyes wide. “Harry.” He looked at Tony first, then to MJ and Ned. “What should I—”

“Answer it,” MJ said immediately.

“What if he’s tracking you?” Ned asked.

“I’d like to see him try,” Tony snorted. He looked at Peter, who was still waiting. “It could be nothing.”

“Or it could be everything,” Ned said.

“Not helping,” Peter said, his voice raising an octave. He looked at Tony again in wordless question.

Tony nodded down at the phone. “Answer it,” he said.

He saw an odd look flicker across MJ’s face, but when Tony turned to look at her, she was already looking at Peter expectantly.

Peter let out a small breath. “Here goes,” he said, and he held the phone up to his ear. “Hey, Harry,” Peter said. “What’s up?”

“Put it on speaker,” Ned stage-whispered, and a second later, Harry Osborn’s voice filled the garage.

“Hope I’m not interrupting your weekend, Peter,” Harry said. “But this will be quick.”

Peter lifted his eyes to Tony, directed them back down to the floor. “Yeah?”

“Don’t come into work tomorrow.”

At that, everyone stiffened.

“What do you mean?” Peter asked at last. “Did I do something wrong?”

A laugh—a single sharp bark. “No, no,” Harry said. “Nothing like that at all. It’s not just you—this is a company-wide thing.” At that, Peter looked up at Tony. “Something was found in one of the labs—nothing major, but it’ll require some clean-up. It should just take a day to fix things up again, but for now, don’t bother coming in to work tomorrow.”

“Oh,” Peter said. He looked around the garage, but no one said anything. “Sorry to hear that. Hope it clears up.”

“It will,” Harry replied. “Enjoy your weekend, Peter.”

“Thanks,” Peter said. “You, too.” With that, he hung up and looked up again.

“…so,” MJ said, turning back around to the screens, “is there anything in the labs that warrant a clean up?”

“That’s not possible,” Tony said immediately. “There’s procedures set in place to make sure this kind of stuff doesn’t happen.”

“So if there’s nothing,” Peter said, looking at Tony, “why would Harry shut down Stark Industries, even if it’s just for a day?”

“Has Harry been down in the labs?” Ned asked. He looked between Tony and Peter. “I mean, you two talk to him, right? Does he go down there at all?”

“He’s been down in the labs before,” Peter said. “But I mean…”

“FRIDAY, get us the cameras,” Tony directed, and immediately, the screens lit up with videos of the labs at Stark Industries. “Search for Harry Osborn.” Everyone stayed silent as the footage rewound itself at a speed too fast for anyone except an AI could comprehend.

Finally, FRIDAY said, “No appearances of Harry Osborn, boss.”

“Then what is he _doing_?” Peter asked, frustrated.

“One way to find out,” Tony said grimly. He looked down at Ned. “How long have you got?”

\--

Apparently, MJ and Ned didn’t have that much time, because by the time the sun started setting, both MJ and Ned were getting ready to leave.

“Sorry, you guys,” Ned said guiltily. “But my boss is going to kill me if I don’t come in tomorrow.”

“And I’ve got to catch my train back to Cambridge,” MJ said duly. She shouldered her backpack and, nodding at Peter, added, “But I’ll try to see what I can find.”

“Don’t,” Peter said with a tight smile. “You’re already busy.”

“Yeah, well,” MJ said, puffing a strand of hair away from her forehead, “It’s kind of my job to stay busy. And also make sure that you don’t get yourself into anything stupid.” At that, Peter winced, but MJ only gave him a dry smile. “Later, Peter.” With that, she was walking out the door, Ned trailing not too far behind. Tony watched Peter wave his friends goodbye, and then it was just Peter standing in the doorway, his hand slowly dropping to his side. Peter bowed his head briefly, and Tony was about to move forward when Peter suddenly turned around, a small smile already on his face.

“So,” he said. “I’m starving.”

\--

Tony found Peter sitting at the back porch after dinner.

“What’s he doing?” Morgan asked, craning her head to the screen door separating Peter from the house. It was dark out, and it had to be cold, but Peter was wearing nothing but his sweatshirt. Under the dim glow of the porchlight, Peter seemed to glow from the inside out.

“Probably thinking adult things,” Tony told Morgan, bending down to catch her kiss on the cheek. “Don’t worry about it—he’ll come in soon.”

“You sure?” Morgan asked, turning to the screen door again.

“Absolutely,” Tony replied. “Because I’ll drag him in.”

At that, Morgan smiled. “Can I help?”

“Nice try,” Tony said, ruffling a hand through Morgan’s hair. “But you’ve got school tomorrow. Bright and early, no complaints.”

Morgan’s smile melted into a scowl. “Fine,” she said, and with a dramatic sigh, she turned on her heel and added, “But I’m gonna wake you guys up first!”

“Good _night_ , Morguna,” Tony called after her, and after Morgan disappeared into the hallway, he let out a breath. He headed to the screen door, and if Peter could sense Tony coming—which Tony knew Peter had to, with his spider senses, Peter didn’t show it, not even after Tony slid the screen door open.

“Long day?” Tony asked, sitting down next to Peter.

To Tony’s relief, Peter let out a quiet laugh. Laughter meant safety. Laughter meant things were okay. “Something like that,” Peter said. “It’s been a long week.” He turned to Tony. “What about you?”

Tony lifted his shoulders. “For a guy who just found out that there’s a potential maniac controlling the company, I think I’m doing fine.”

Peter’s smile melted, and Tony instantly wished he hadn’t said anything. “I’m sorry,” Peter said, turning away. “I’ll figure out how to stop this—”

“That’s not what I meant,” Tony said. “Peter—look at me.”

Peter turned back around, his brows furrowed together. Tony paused, and then, without thinking, he lifted a hand to Peter’s eyebrows, let his fingers smooth them out. Peter closed his eyes briefly, let out a sigh and leaned into Tony’s touch.

“I’m sorry,” Peter repeated. “I should have figured—”

“Don’t,” Tony said. “You don’t have to apologize for anything.” He paused. “You know, Rhodey warned me, too, but I didn’t want to believe him. Figured that people could turn out to be different from their families.” His lips quirked into a bitter smile. “Mental note to self: stop projecting.” He puffed out a sigh. “But this isn’t your fault. I don’t want you to think it is.”

Peter lifted his eyes up to Tony. “It isn’t yours, either.”

“Well,” Tony said, “I _did_ hire him.”

“But you didn’t know what was going to happen.”

“Should have known.”

“You wanted to give someone a second chance,” Peter said. “That’s not bad.”

Tony tried to smile, but Peter was looking at him too intently for him to even bother. Finally, Tony turned away from Peter and looked up at the sky. “Stars,” he said at last. He felt Peter turn from underneath his hand, heard the little sigh, though whether it was from the stars or the situation, Tony couldn’t tell.

“Big Dipper,” Peter pointed out last, lifting his hand to the constellation. He narrowed his eyes. “Pretty sure we can find Ursa Major this way.” He let his fingers trail across the sky, and Tony concentrated on Peter’s hand, the lithe fingers. “Look…”

Tony followed Peter’s fingers, then let his other hand catch Peter’s, helped him find the constellation. “There we go,” he said quietly. Peter’s hand was warm in his, a little warmer than Tony’s, but not unpleasantly.

Peter paused. He turned to Tony. For a while, they didn’t say anything.

Tony felt his other hand trail from Peter’s forehead to the back of Peter’s neck, and that was all he was aware of before Peter was leaning in, just lightly brushing his lips against Tony’s. They were softer than Tony had ever felt them: brief, gentle. He felt Peter guide their hands away from the sky, and then both of Peter’s hands were latching onto his face. Tony leaned back just enough for Peter to adjust himself, for Peter to angle himself so he could find better purchase.

And he did—Peter lifted himself up on his knees, causing Tony to rock back and lift his head up, catch Peter’s lips, and _huh_ , _that’s new_ , but it felt good, because Peter suddenly was everywhere, and Tony could smell Peter everywhere, that citrus and fresh air smell that made Tony’s head buzz.

“Come here,” Tony whispered, bunching his hands down to the back of Peter’s shirt. “Come here, come here…”

“Trying to,” Peter mumbled. “I _want_ …”

“What do you want?” Tony asked, catching Peter by his bottom lip. “Tell me what you want.”

“ _You_ ,” Peter said. Whimpered. He had his hands down Tony’s neck now, spanning down Tony’s back. Tony felt Peter’s fingers already digging through his shirt, trying to dig into skin, and that was when Tony let himself break away. It felt like torture, really, being apart from Peter’s lips for even just those briefest seconds, but he knew it had to be necessary, because he could feel Peter’s need against him, could feel his own.

Tony didn’t have to say anything. He just stood up, dragging Peter up to his feet. Tony wasn’t sure what happened next—except that suddenly, he was stumbling into the house, his hands fumbling to close the screen door as his lips found Peter’s neck, found the base of Peter’s throat.

And then they were staggering into Tony’s bedroom, and it was Tony who pushed Peter into the bed, Tony hovering over Peter, helping Peter take off his shirt. And even then, that half-unclothing took too long, and once the shirt was abandoned, Tony went for Peter’s chest, for Peter’s abdomen as though he had been touch-starved for years.

Peter shivered underneath Tony as his lips found nipples, as Tony traced fingers down from the center of Peter’s chest to his navel. Tony smiled to himself, lifted his eyes up at Peter for the briefest of moments before lowering his lips down the length of Peter’s stomach, felt the slightest tremble in Peter’s body as he went lower and lower—

And then Tony moved up again, his lips brushing back up to Peter’s nipples, and this time, Peter was grabbing at the hem of Tony’s shirt, hands desperate.

“Don’t rip it, sweetheart,” Tony whispered, rocking himself up to Peter’s neck. “I like this shirt.”

“I like you better,” Peter replied, and Tony smirked, because _God_ , of course Peter would say that, but he let himself move away just enough for Peter to sit up—a smooth, clean movement that showcased the briefest clench of Peter’s sculpted muscles ( _statues would be jealous of those muscles_ , Tony thought)—and yank off Tony’s shirt.

Tony expected Peter to lay back down on the mattress, but no, Peter was rocking into him, his breath hot against Tony’s ear as he whispered, “Fuck me.”

Tony paused. “You’re sure?”

Peter grabbed Tony’s hand, lowered it right to Peter’s crotch. Tony’s heart skipped one too many beats as he felt the heat pulsing right in Peter’s jeans. And _God_ , Peter was looking at Tony now with a new kind of hunger, the kind that Tony hadn’t thought sweet-eyed, innocent Peter was capable of.

Thank God he was.

“Off,” Tony instructed, and then Peter’s jeans were laying abandoned on the ground, and Tony pushed Peter back into the mattress. He felt Peter’s hands scrambling for Tony’s pants, but Tony knocked Peter’s hands away. “Not yet,” he said, his lips curling into a smile. “We gotta take our time.”

“ _Tony_ ,” Peter whined, but Tony was reaching for the nightstand. His hand fumbled for the drawer, tugged out the lube.

“Be patient,” Tony said, leaning down to kiss right next to Peter’s mouth. “I’m sure a good boy like you knows your manners.”

“If you keep talking like that, I won’t,” Peter fired back, and Tony smirked. He rubbed the lube over his hands, re-positioned himself at the foot of the bed, dragged himself up to Peter.

“ _Tony_ ,” Peter repeated.

“You know,” Tony said, and he curled a finger right into Peter’s hole, smiled at how Peter closed his eyes, so sweet and perfectly. He let his finger slide in and out gently, slowly, his other hand reaching up to Peter’s hips. He let that hand dance over Peter’s hips lightly, feeling along the goosebumps. “I should have known you’d be so fucking _mouthy_.” He worked his finger a little faster into Peter, heard the already shortened breaths puffing out of Peter. Tony set his hand down on Peter’s hip to keep him from arching too much, letting out a quiet laugh. “Don’t get too excited,” he said. “We’re still warming up.”

“Need you,” Peter whimpered, his hands clutching at the sheets. “ _Tony_ , come on.”

Tony lifted his eyes up at Peter, took one look at Peter’s blown pupils, the heat already rushing to Peter’s face. “You sure?”

“ _Fuck_ , Tony,” Peter said, craning up his neck. “ _Please_.”

“Well,” Tony said, pulling himself over Peter, “why didn’t you just say so?”

Peter lifted himself up by the elbows, his fingers working at Tony’s jeans. The jeans brushed roughly against Tony’s legs as they were shucked off, and Tony only just kicked him off the bed before Peter was falling back into the mattress.

Tony looked back down at Peter. “You’re sure.”

Peter nodded, and Tony moved down to Peter’s hole. He felt Peter’s thighs tighten under him, heard the light gasp as Tony entered Peter. It was too easy, too natural—Peter, already wet and slick and _waiting_ , but Tony bit down on his _need, want_ and forced himself to move slowly, even though he already craved what he knew could come so much faster if he dared—

“Good?” Tony whispered, lowering himself above Peter. He propped himself up on his forearms, looked down at Peter. God, he looked so beautiful—that was the only way Tony could describe it. Curls unruly, eyes heavily lidded, lips bright and plush from spending too much time on skin.

Peter made a small noise that sounded a cross between a groan and a sigh, which Tony decided to take as affirmation. Tony ducked his head to Peter’s neck, let his lips kiss the Adam’s apple as he pushed deeper into Peter. Smooth skin—so smooth, Tony marveled, unmarked, even though he knew that there had been ugly bruises there just a little while ago. But that felt like a lifetime now—a lifetime since that night when Peter had kissed Tony’s knuckles, a lifetime since Peter had dragged Tony into a kiss, a lifetime since Tony had been looking down at Peter in his lap, a lifetime since everything started.

A lifetime ago, and now Tony couldn’t remember a time when Peter _hadn’t_ been there—hadn’t been somehow in the background or in the forefront like now, laying in front of Tony like _this_ , with his back arching and his hips lifting up just barely to meet Tony—

“Want you,” Peter breathed, and suddenly Peter’s hands were on Tony’s back again, fingers clawing down his skin, but Tony didn’t mind, because this was _Peter_.

That knowledge filled Tony with a new energy, pushed Tony faster, harder, and his efforts were rewarded with another moan from Peter, another dig into Tony’s back. Tony focused his lips back up Peter’s neck, the earlobes—Tony hadn’t done _that_ before, but everything was new and familiar, and nothing felt too strange or foreign. He _knew_ Peter’s body somehow—knew how it arched, knew how it tightened with each time Tony pulsed against him. Years of seeing Peter’s wounds, helping Peter figure out the suit, swimming with Peter in the lake, training with Peter—years of all of _that_ had somehow turned Tony into this expert now, as though all of those years of Tony watching Peter’s body had been leading up to this.

Tony wasn’t stopping now, his hands lowering to grip Peter’s hips as he _pushed_ into Peter, felt Peter rut back against him, their breaths coming out more like gasps than anything else.

“Tony,” Peter hissed, his arms spreading out on either side of him on the mattress, and Tony allowed himself just the slightest reprieve to grip Peter’s wrists, and—Tony let out a guttural moan. He was coming close—he didn’t know how long he was going to last, because Peter needed to get there first—

Suddenly, Peter inhaled—a sharp, single breath—and a stuttered, “I’m—” and then Peter was coming, lashing Tony with wet, and then Tony finally let himself _go_ , let himself lose control, let his rhythm falter as he came right into Peter, white hot and breathless—

Tony groaned, let himself roll gently to Peter’s side, his chest rising and falling as though he had just come back from a run. He allowed himself only that moment of reprieve before reaching for Peter—blindly, hungrily, and then he felt Peter’s head at his shoulder, Peter’s breath against his side.

“How’re you feeling?” Tony asked at last, his voice little more than a hoarse rumble.

“Good,” Peter replied. Tony looked down in time to see Peter nestle a little deeper into his side, Peter’s eyes already half-closed. “Really good.” He lifted his head sleepily, rested it right on Tony’s chest, and even looking so tired and spent, Tony didn’t think he had ever wanted to kiss Peter more.

So Tony lifted his head, found Peter’s lips. And Peter kissed back, gentle and slow. “Right here,” Peter whispered against Tony. “Right here.”

\--

Tony woke up to Peter still curled up at his side. For a moment, he just lay there, afraid to move and wake Peter, but as though sensing Tony, Peter stirred, his hands moving up to meet Tony’s chest. Tony wondered if Peter could feel his quickening heartbeat, and in answer, a lazy smile spread across Peter’s lips as he opened his eyes.

“Morning,” Peter murmured, shifting his head up to look at Tony.

“Morning,” Tony could only manage to say. “Don’t want any more sleep?”

“Dunno,” Peter said. “Slept pretty well last night.”

Tony smiled. “You’re welcome.”

“You’re such a sap.”

“You made me a sap.”

“I’ll gladly take credit for that,” Peter said, brushing his lips to Tony’s cheek, and the touch was so gentle, so tender that Tony felt a sudden surge of warmth in his chest, in his eyes as he re-focused on Peter. “What?”

“Nothing,” Tony said. “Just…” He rolled over on his side so he could see Peter fully. So he could see nothing but Peter. “Glad you made me a sap.”

Peter smiled. “Wanna make this sap some breakfast?”

“There it is,” Tony said fondly. “How about you get dressed first?”

Peter let out a short laugh, but he rolled out of bed. Tony propped himself up on his elbows and watched Peter tug on his jeans, his shirt. It wasn’t until Peter turned back around did he realize he hadn’t moved at all. “C’mon,” Peter said, picking up Tony’s shirt and pants. He walked over to Tony, sat down on the bed. “Want me to dress you?”

“I think you’re better at undressing me,” Tony said, smirking. He took his clothes, yanked on his shirt and his pants. “Don’t think I can trust you to dress me without some trade-off.”

“I might surprise you,” Peter said, opening the door.

“You’ve surprised me enough.”

“Have I?” Peter asked, lifting his eyes up at Tony.

“Wait ‘till after breakfast,” Tony said, nipping Peter just gently by the neck. Peter dropped his head back against Tony’s shoulder, a dazed smile spreading across his face. “Didn’t know how horny you were until now,” Tony murmured. “Have you always been this way, or are you just doing this for me?”

“Only for you,” Peter said. He turned around, his hands already finding Tony’s shirt hem. “One hundred percent you.”

Tony grinned, let himself be tugged down to Peter’s lips. He found Peter’s waist, pulled Peter flush against him just so—

“Daddy?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, comments/kudos are greatly appreciated!


	23. TWENTY-THREE

Peter’s stomach pitched as he spun around to see Morgan standing in the hallway, her eyes wide. But she wasn’t looking at Peter—she was looking straight at Tony, who had sprang from Peter as though he had been burned.

“What are you…” Morgan’s voice sounded too small, too far away, and that was when she looked at Peter, and Peter wished he could just vanish because Morgan looked as though she had been slapped in the face. “ _Why_ are you…what were you guys doing?”

“Morgan—” Tony started, but Morgan was already spinning around on her heel, her head ducked low. “ _Shit_ — _Morgan_!” Tony headed forward, and Peter instinctively followed, but then Tony stopped. He turned around to Peter, his eyebrows furrowed and face pale. “Peter—you—” He looked at Peter helplessly, lost. “I think it’d be best if you just…” His voice drifted, and then Tony shook his head. “I’ll talk to her,” was all he said, and before Peter could say anything, he strode away. “ _Morgan!_ ”

Peter stayed at Tony’s doorway, his eyes stinging.

Everything was ruined.

\--

It was like a repeat of the beginning, when Tony had kissed Peter—only much, much worse. The road blurred before Peter’s eyes as he drove back, but he didn’t pull over. He half expected Tony to come following him in the suit, but no such thing happened.

He had ruined everything.

Ned was still out at work when Peter returned to the apartment, and Peter was grateful for that. He crashed into his bed, ducked his head into his pillow, and waited for the scream building up inside of him to come out. But it didn’t, and all that came out instead was a single, shaky half-cry, half-sob.

He had ruined _everything_.

\--

There were seven voice messages waiting for Peter when he woke up.

All from Tony.

“ _Peter, where did you go? I know things are bad—I—_ shit _—Morgan’s just…confused. This isn’t your fault. Just call me back._ ”

“ _Actually, call me back whenever you’re ready to._ ”

“ _Shit, Peter, just call me back. Ready or not. We need to talk about this. Please._ ”

“ _Peter. You’re worrying me. Where are you?_ ”

The fifth message wasn’t anything at all—just a heavy sigh.

“ _Come on, Peter. Please. What are you thinking about? What’s going on in that head of yours? Please. I want to know_.”

“ _Come back._ ”

Peter almost deleted all the messages. He listened to each of them again instead, tucked his phone back into its charger, and pulled the covers over his head.

\--

“Why aren’t you answering Tony’s calls?”

“I’m busy,” Peter said, concentrating on cutting up his sandwich.

May sighed from the other end. “On what? I thought you weren’t working today.”

Peter glanced at the clock. It was noon. “Making lunch,” he said. “That counts as being busy.” He didn’t even bother pulling out a plate. He leaned against the counter, taking a single bite out of the sandwich before adding, “And then I’m gonna do some stuff afterwards.”

“Stuff like what?” May asked.

“Catch up on work,” Peter replied. “Maybe do some digging on Harry by myself.”

“I thought Tony was helping you with that?”

Peter set his sandwich back down on the cutting board, no longer hungry. He set a paper towel over it, decided he would have it later—though how much later, he didn’t know. “He needed to help out Morgan with some stuff,” he said, his voice coming out rougher than he intended. He cleared his throat, hoping that May couldn’t catch any change in tone through the phone. “Besides, she’s got school today.”

As Peter said those words, his heart plummeted. _Shit_ , Morgan was supposed to have school today. Would she even be at school right now, or was Tony still trying to talk to her? Peter suddenly saw Morgan again, saw the stunned and hurt look on her face before she whirled around and ran to her room. He had seen Morgan upset before—he had seen Morgan cry and scream and throw tantrums, but he hadn’t seen her look at Peter as though he had actually _hurt_ her.

Peter’s chest twisted. If Morgan did go to school, he had a feeling that the day wouldn’t last without some phone call home, and that would be his fault too.

“Peter? You still there?”

“Yeah,” Peter said, quickly wiping at his eyes. “Sorry. Spaced out.”

“You sound tired,” May said. “You’ve been staying up too late these days.”

“I wonder why,” Peter said. He headed into his room and plopped down at the foot of the bed. “I’ll be fine. I’m just going to get some of my own work done. That’s all.”

“Well,” May said, “call Tony back and tell him that. I think he’s worried about you.” She paused. “He cares about you too, you know.”

Peter closed his eyes. “Yeah,” he said. Which was why everything hurt even more. “I know.”

After exchanging ‘love you’s and ‘see you later’s, Peter let his phone drop back down on the bed. A text message had come in from Tony while Peter had apparently been talking to May on the phone: _talk to me. please_.

Peter pushed his phone away from himself, rolled over on his side. The one bite of sandwich he had lodged itself in his throat. He heard his phone buzz again, and he resisted the urge to look at the screen. Peter turned the ringer off his phone and pushed it off his bed, ignoring the painfully dull sound it made against the floor. Still lying down, Peter dragged his covers backwards and pulled them over himself.

\--

Peter’s head was woolly from his three-hour pity nap when he woke up. He stumbled into the bathroom, flinching back at the sudden fluorescent lights. It was already starting to get dark outside—daylight savings and everything, and for a moment, Peter stayed in the bathroom, jostled by the sudden disruption of time that only came after sleeping too hard for too long in the middle of the day.

Peter splashed water over his face and looked at himself in the mirror. His eyes weren’t as puffy as he expected, but he was pale, and Peter suddenly remembered Tony telling him to “stop looking like a sad British boy”, and he quickly walked out of the bathroom before he could remember anything more than that conversation. Or that day.

Peter drifted back to the kitchen, where his uneaten sandwich still sat at the counter. He still wasn’t hungry, but not wanting to spoil the food any further, Peter settled for wrapping the sandwich in plastic. After putting it in the refrigerator, Peter headed back for his room. His phone was on the floor. Without turning his phone on, Peter tucked the device into his back pocket and took stock of his messy room. The covers were still comically thrown back from Peter’s nap at the foot of the bed, and last night’s clothes were still in a heap in the corner.

Peter folded the covers back into their proper position and picked up his clothes. He tossed it into the laundry hamper and wrote himself a note to take care of laundry later that evening. He vacuumed his room, then he vacuumed Ned’s room, and then he vacuumed the living room and the kitchen. He looked into the refrigerator again. They needed milk.

The rest of the hour passed like that. Mechanical movements. Going into autopilot. Peter organized the stack of books that had long laid askew on the coffee table. He folded all the socks in his sock drawer. He did his load of laundry, and then he changed his sheets. He did all of that while feeling the weight of his phone and all of its unread messages—because he knew there had to be messages waiting for him.

One from May: _are things okay between tony and you?_

One from Ned: _Tony just called me???_

And the last from Tony: _Peter._

Peter’s thumb hovered over the screen. His chest felt too small for his lungs, felt too tight to breathe. He could already hear the words he would type out later: _I’m sorry. You were right from the start._

Dangerous territory—that was what Tony had warned him.

Peter hadn’t cared.

He should have, because the look Morgan gave him— _God_ , Peter felt the shame and the hatred swarm all over him again, forcing him to drop his phone back into his pocket. Morgan probably hated his guts—no, she _definitely_ hated Peter’s guts now. Morgan, who Peter had watched cry over Pepper’s death, who Peter coaxed into going outside with him. Morgan, who trusted Peter with those great big eyes and that great big heart, who asked Peter to fix things between Tony and himself—

All of that trust had to be gone now.

Peter’s pocket buzzed again. Before he could stop himself, he looked down at the screen, half-expecting it to be Tony, but—

“So, Tony’s calling me,” MJ said.

Peter let his head drop against his wall. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” MJ said. “Tony _never_ calls me unless something is seriously, seriously wrong.” She paused. “So what happened?”

Peter closed his eyes, hating the way they burned now. “I don’t wanna tell you.”

“Why?”

“Because you’ll say you told me so.”

And Peter waited for MJ to say that she _did_ tell him so, that she _did_ tell him not to get his heart broken, but nothing of the sort came.

Instead, MJ said, “Tony sounded like…you do now.”

When Peter didn’t reply, MJ said hesitantly, “Like you’ve been crying for a long time. Like he’s been crying for a long time.” The burning sensation in Peter’s eyes worsened, but he kept them closed. He was scared if he opened his eyes or his mouth, everything would come tumbling out of him. “He’s…worried about you. Like, _really_ worried.”

Peter heard MJ’s sigh over the phone, but it wasn’t her usual exasperated or disappointed sigh. It was a sad one, the kind that one would give after a long, hard day. “I’m not going to say I told you so.” She paused. “But I _am_ going to say that you need to call him back, because one call from Tony Stark is already one too many for me.”

“Morgan saw us kissing,” Peter said, scrubbing his hands over his face.

There was a silence.

And then, “Kissing?”

“Kissing. Morgan. She saw us,” Peter said miserably. “And she—” Peter cut himself off, inhaling a sharp, shaky breath. “She looked—”

“Peter…” MJ’s voice was so soft over the phone, and that was when Peter broke. He slid down to the ground and buried his face in his knees, just barely muffling the small cries burning up his throat. “Peter…”

“I ruined everything,” Peter managed to say, and he didn’t even know if MJ could hear him, because he was still speaking into his jeans, but he didn’t care. “She hates me. _They_ hate me.”

“No, Peter, _no_ ,” MJ said, pained. “Of course they don’t. They can’t ever hate you.”

“You didn’t see the way Morgan looked at me,” Peter replied. _Or Tony, for that matter_.

“They can’t ever hate you,” MJ said firmly. “If they did, Tony wouldn’t have called you. Do you really think Tony would have called you if he hadn’t talked things through with Morgan? If Morgan really hated you, Tony would still be talking to her. But if he has enough free time to call you, then he must have calmed her down at least enough that he feels it’s safe to check on you.”

Peter kept his face against his knees. “You don’t know that.”

“Uh, yeah I do,” MJ snorted. “Because I actually let him talk to me.”

At that, Peter lifted his head. “Wait, did he already tell—”

“I might have implied that I already knew about you two,” MJ said. _Ah, there it is._ “Peter. That voice Tony was using when he was asking about you? That wasn’t the voice of someone who hates you. Trust me.”

When Peter didn’t reply, MJ continued, “If he hated you, he wouldn’t have gone looking for you, would he? He wouldn’t have called _me_ of all people, right? And he’s been calling you, right?”

“Seven times,” Peter found himself saying. “Plus text messages.”

“ _See_? I don’t think the great _Tony Stark_ would put so much effort in texting and calling a guy he hates.”

Peter’s throat tightened. “He might be texting and calling to say it’s over.”

At that, MJ paused. Peter could almost hear the words probably running through MJ’s head, hear the words that might come out of her mouth. The tentative _but was there something to begin with?_ , and Peter closed his eyes again, because there _was_ something to begin with—there _was_. At least, for _Peter_ there was. For _Tony_ —

Peter didn’t even want to think about what it had been for Tony.

“Do you think _Tony_ wants it to be over, or do you think _you_ want it to be over?” MJ asked at last.

“I don’t want it to be over,” Peter whispered, and he hated how quickly he responded, how pathetic he sounded to his own ears. He pushed a hand over his eyes. “And that’s really bad, right? I’m bad—because _Morgan_ —”

“Yeah,” MJ sighed wearily. “I know.”

“How could I do something like that?” Peter asked. “You were right—it was…I mean, just _last year_ —”

“Don’t put all the blame on yourself,” MJ said. “It was Tony, too. He’s a grown man.”

“So am I,” Peter said, wounded.

“He’s older. He should have been…more careful,” MJ said. “This isn’t just on you, is what I’m saying.”

Peter looked down at his lap. “You think it’s a bad idea for me to still want this,” he said quietly.

“I’m still worried,” MJ said. “I don’t—I mean, you sound awful.” She paused. “But he sounded awful too,” she added. That’s all.” There was a shaky sigh from the other end, and then, “I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

 _I won’t get hurt_ , Peter had said once. _You won’t hurt me_.

“Peter?”

Peter kept his eyes down on his lap. If he lifted his head, he would be looking at the exact space where Tony and he had sat on that day Peter had moved in. Legs splayed out against a wooden floor as the sun’s dying rays spread across the room.

“Yeah,” Peter said. “I don’t want to, either.”

\--

Peter stepped into his apartment with the gallon of milk in his hand, phone in the other. There were a few more text messages: one from Ned, another from May, but almost all of them from Tony. After a while, the text messages had just stopped coming, and Peter wasn’t sure if he was supposed to feel relieved or sad about that.

Either way, Peter kept finding himself glancing down at his phone, thumbs always hovering over the keyboard. And each time, Peter found himself shoving his phone back in his pocket, because every time he searched for words to write, he came up empty and desperate.

He just wanted Tony. Selfishly, terribly, dangerously just wanted Tony back. And each time he _wanted_ , hot, prickly guilt would come needling at Peter again, and that would be the end of that.

He needed a distraction.

Peter put the milk in the fridge and tugged out his phone again. He scrolled past the calls, forcing himself to look past the many missed calls from Tony, and found what he was looking for.

He needed a distraction.

 _Don’t come into work_ , Harry had said.

Well, Peter needed a distraction.

He was going to work.

\--

Peter knew going to Stark Industries was a bad idea the second he walked into the lab, but he didn’t care. His body thrummed with an energy that hadn’t been present since the beginning of the day, and given the mess of his life right now, Peter took that as a welcome sign that at least _something_ in him was working. He only just settled his backpack on his desk when he heard the distant _ding_ of elevators from across the lab.

Peter’s heart jumped to his throat. He slipped behind a desk just as the elevator doors opened, and then he heard the clack of shoes against the linoleum floor. Peter sucked in his breath and pressed himself flatter against the desk as the shoes came nearer.

Maybe this was a bad idea.

The shoes were getting closer.

Peter inched around the desk to the other side just as the shoes passed him, and then Peter saw Harry’s retreating back towards one of the exits of the lab—and into the direction of one of the other facilities. Not the tech-heavy lab that Peter was in now, but—

A small, still-wanting-to-survive instinct of Peter told him to leave _now_. This had been a bad idea.

But Harry had told Peter not to come.

 _We could find something_ , Peter thought, and then he paused. There was no _we_. It was only him here.

Peter crept forward. His steps were silent against the linoleum, his breaths almost nothing as Peter crept closer and closer to the entrance to the next lab. Here, Peter could make out Harry’s figure through the windows—Harry’s back was still turned, but he was hunched over a workbench now, and Peter craned his neck to see what he was working on—

Then, Harry paused. “I told you not to come, Peter.”

Peter didn’t have enough time to hide himself as Harry turned around.

“Or should I call you Spider-Man?” Harry was smiling, but it looked bone-chillingly foreign now, and Peter couldn’t help but wish that he hadn’t come after all.

Still, Peter stayed.

“What, not surprised?” Harry asked when Peter didn’t say anything. “I suppose I gave myself away a little while ago—but really, can you blame me? I couldn’t resist.” He flashed another smile, eyes widening along with it. “You’re too easy.”

Peter swallowed. “What are you doing here?”

“Take a wild guess,” Harry said, stepping away from the workbench, and Peter saw the mess of vials and needles laid out on the surface. Harry looked behind himself and looked back up at Peter, his smile turning more into a grimace. “Took a few times, but I think I’ve finally cracked the formula.”

Peter directed his attention back on Harry. “Is that what turns you into Green Goblin?”

“Very good,” Harry said. He picked up one of the needles. “My father started the project, you know, but all his work got lost.” He lifted his eyes at Peter. “Did you know that he got sent to prison while I was still a child? I didn’t get to see him all that often, as you can probably imagine.” He gave another twisted smile. “Absent fathers and all that. Psychologists would probably use that as an explanation for why I am the way I am. I’m sure you can relate.” When Peter didn’t answer, Harry tilted his head to the side. “Of course, I don’t _believe_ you’ve done anything criminal, but it would certainly explain your relationship with Tony Stark.”

Peter flinched, and he hated that he did, because Harry laughed.

“Tell me,” Harry said, holding the needle up to the light and examining it, “how long has that been going on?” He looked at Peter through the needle. “I won’t judge, of course, everyone has their own tastes.”

“What do you want?” Peter asked.

“Want?” Harry put the needle back down on the workbench. “Well, initially, I wanted _you_ , Peter.”

“You wanted me to work on this,” Peter said.

“Of course I did,” Harry said lazily. “Why did you think I applied to this stupid position in the first place?”

Peter stared, and Harry laughed. “No need to look so surprised. It’s not difficult to put two and two together to know that the great Spider-Man also happens to be the whiz kid from Queens,” he said. He leaned back against the workbench. “Any idiot can get bitten by a radioactive spider. But someone with brains can become Spider-Man.”

“I won’t help you,” Peter said.

Harry smiled. “Did you think I was asking?” he asked, and before Peter could react, the lab filled with smoke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, comments/kudos are greatly appreciated!


	24. TWENTY-FOUR

Tony found Morgan hiding in the tent by the lake.

He knew that was where she would be, because Morgan always hid there, no matter the occasion. Good days, bad days—if Tony’s place was the garage, then Morgan’s place was her tent.

Tony sat down in front of the flap entrance. “Morgan,” he said. “Come on, it’s cold.”

“Don’t care,” came Morgan’s automatic reply. _At least she was talking_.

Tony tilted his head up to the sky. “We need to talk. About…” His mouth went dry.

“About you kissing Peter?” Morgan prompted, her voice as chilly as the morning air. The flap entrance suddenly unzipped, and Tony could see the marks from where tears had run down Morgan’s cheeks, and he felt another hot rush of guilt. “Why did you do that?”

Without waiting for an answer, Morgan started to zip the tent flap again, but before she could, Tony held the flap back. Morgan maintained her stare at Tony, and it was full of so much betrayal and anger that Tony almost let go.

“Talk to me,” Tony said at last. “You and me. Right now. We’re talking about this.” He dropped his hand from the flap and leaned back. “Have at it.” He gestured towards himself. “You’ve got things to say—go ahead.”

Morgan paused, and Tony gestured again. “Come on,” he said. “All of it. Out. Right now.”

“Fine,” Morgan said, and she turned herself completely towards Tony. Setting her hands down on her lap, she said, “I saw you kiss Peter. Like, _kissing_ him. Like not cheek kisses or anything, but like…” Her face paled, and her voice cracked just briefly as she said, “Like you would kiss Mommy.”

Tony’s chest tightened, and he was about to say something, but Morgan wasn’t done. “And you were smiling,” she continued, “and Peter was happy, too.” She bit her lip, scuffed her feet against the ground. Tony realized then that Morgan hadn’t even put on her sneakers. Her socks—white, with lightning bolts—were already mud- and grass-stained. “Like, really happy.”

She looked at Tony. “You said you weren’t gonna forget Mommy,” she said. “Remember?”

“Of course I do,” Tony said, but the words sounded empty in the space between them. He swallowed. “I didn’t.”

“Then why did you do it?” Morgan asked. Her brow furrowed. “Are you in love with Peter?”

Under different circumstances—in a circumstance where Morgan would be happy, Tony might have smiled at the question. He might have looked at Peter, because under that circumstance, Peter would be right next to him, rather than standing somewhere in the house. But right now, under _this_ circumstance, Tony only looked at Morgan and watched as the slow realization dawned on his daughter’s face.

“Oh,” she said softly, sadly, and Tony was afraid that she would zip the tent flap back up again, but she only stayed still. “Was this the first time?” She glanced up at Tony once, lowered her eyes back down to the ground, and Tony would have rather had Morgan back to glaring at him. “Because…it kinda looked like it wasn’t.” She dropped her hand to the damp grass, halfheartedly ripping up a few strands.

“You’re right,” Tony said at last. “It wasn’t the first time.”

“So how long?” Morgan asked, her eyes focusing on Tony’s shoulder. “How long have you…” Her brows grew closer together. “Been in love with him?”

Tony wasn’t sure how to answer that. Because it hadn’t just been that night by the kitchen sink, light catching in Peter’s eyes and his hair. It had to have been before that, back when they were sleeping at the foot of Morgan’s bed, Peter’s face turned lightly towards his. It had to have been before that, back when they were still laughing after running through the rain to get to SI. It had to have been even before that, when Tony had been disappointed that Peter was going to leave early on the day Morgan and he came back from Korea. It had to have been even before all of that, and Tony didn’t know when it started—just that it had to have started long before he knew it had started to begin with.

“I don’t know,” Tony replied at last.

Morgan tore up another part of the grass. “Was it…” Her voice shook. “Was it before Mommy—”

“No,” Tony said, and he watched as Morgan’s shoulders started to shake, and then he was pushing himself into the small tent. He ignored the wet grass and dirt soaking through the knees of his jeans as he slipped down next to Morgan. “No. Never.”

Morgan drew her knees in tighter. “You said you wouldn’t forget,” she said in a small voice, dropping her chin against the top of her knees.

“I didn’t,” Tony said, and as he said those words, he felt that dull ache again in his chest. He tentatively lifted a hand against Morgan’s head, and when Morgan didn’t jerk away, he brushed back her hair. “I love Mommy,” he said quietly. “I do, Morgan. And I love and miss her every day.”

“But you kissed Peter,” Morgan said quietly. “And you’re in love with him now.”

“That doesn’t mean I stopped loving Mommy,” Tony said. He rested his hand on top of Morgan’s head, waited for Morgan to turn to look up at him. He could see himself in the reflection of Morgan’s eyes. “Morgan. I _love_ Mommy.”

“But you love Peter too.”

“ _And_ I love Peter too,” Tony said, and he was surprised at how easily those words came to him. And he wished, in that selfish instant, that Peter was right there, so he could see the look on Peter’s face at those words, but he wasn’t. “There’s no _but_.” He smoothed out Morgan’s hair. “I love Mommy, and I love Peter. In different ways. But that doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten Mommy.” He searched Morgan’s face. “Okay? I can’t ever forget her.”

“But what if you do?” Morgan asked, her voice cracking. Tears slipped out from Morgan’s eyes as she started to draw away from Tony’s hand. “What if you don’t love Mommy anymore?” And there was real fear in Morgan’s eyes now, and Tony hated himself for ever making Morgan feel that fear.

“That’s impossible,” Tony said at last, and he dropped his hand to Morgan’s shoulder. She was so much Tony’s child, and yet, she was so much Pepper’s child, too—Tony could see Pepper in the way Morgan lifted her chin, in the way Morgan’s eyes didn’t leave Tony’s now.

“Every time I look at you,” Tony said, squeezing Morgan’s shoulder, “I see a lot of Mommy.” He moved his hand to the bottom of Morgan’s chin, gave it a quick little brush of his finger before dropping his hand back to her shoulder. “Every time.” He tilted his head at Morgan, smiling sadly. “How can I stop loving Mommy when you’re standing right in front of me?”

Morgan blinked, tears slipping down from her face. “I miss her,” she said, her voice shaking.

“I know,” Tony said. “I miss her too.”

Morgan slid her head onto Tony’s shoulder then, and Tony already felt his shoulder growing wet from the tears, but he didn’t care. He slipped his arm around Morgan’s shoulders and let her cry.

\--

“Do you think you can talk to Peter now?” Tony asked as Morgan scrubbed a fist over her face.

Morgan hesitated, and then, looking up at Tony, she gave a small nod.

“Okay,” Tony said. He stood up, relieved that Morgan stood up with him. He slipped his hand over hers, and together, they walked towards the house. Tony waited for Morgan to take off her socks as she got in—he’d have to throw those in the wash later, but as she did, he looked into the living room, half-expecting Peter to already be sitting on the couch, but he wasn’t there.

“Where is he?” Morgan asked, handing Tony the socks.

“Maybe he went to the bathroom,” Tony said as they both stepped inside. Still, as he moved into the rooms, he called, “Peter?” He heard some shifting in the background, and when he turned, Morgan was already heading towards the bathroom. She knocked on the door, and even though Morgan still looked tired, the knock suggested something else. Tony would have smiled if he could, except he still couldn’t find Peter.

“Peter?” Tony repeated, and he tried for the bedroom, but all he found were the thrown bed covers from the night before.

Tony’s heart sank. “Dammit,” he muttered, and he reached for his phone.

\--

Tony called Peter seven times.

Each time, he was sent straight to voice mail.

“Is everything okay?” May asked when Tony called. “Is Peter—”

“No,” Tony replied quickly, pacing his office. “At least, I don’t—no.”

“You don’t know?”

“No,” Tony repeated. “I don’t know where he is. He was…” Tony’s voice drifted, unsure how to continue. “He stayed the night after we were doing research. He left this morning.” He suddenly became aware of how silly he sounded then, how pointless it felt to call. “He…must have just left for his apartment.” He cleared his throat. “He’s not picking up.”

“He’s not?” There was genuine concern in May’s voice. “Maybe he’s…” There was some shuffling in the background, and then May said, “I’ll give him a call.” Then, after a beat, she asked, “Did something happen?”

Tony closed his eyes. _No_ , he could say. He could lie. That’d be easy.

“Tony?”

Tony opened his eyes. “I—” he started to say, but he couldn’t find the next words.

“Tony?” May repeated. 

_You won’t hurt me_ , Peter had said.

God, had Tony—no, Tony _did_ —

“I’m sorry for bothering you,” was all Tony said before he hung up.

\--

MJ picked up on the third ring—and when she _did_ pick up, she didn’t speak at first.

There was a beat of silence between the two before MJ said dryly, “So this is new.”

“Sure is,” Tony could only say.

Another beat of silence. “Is Peter okay?”

 _Probably not_ , Tony thought.

“Actually calling to ask you that,” Tony replied.

For a moment, Tony thought MJ had hung up. But then she asked, “Why?”

“He left this morning,” Tony said. “Without saying anything. He might have gone back to the apartment, but he’s not picking up his phone.”

“He didn’t say he was leaving,” MJ said. “Okay. Can you think of any reasons why?”

Tony’s throat dried. “There was a complication.”

“A complication,” MJ repeated slowly. “That made Peter want to leave without telling you anything.” Tony hadn’t known MJ for too long, save for the times Peter would bring her to events, but he could imagine MJ’s eyes narrowing right now. God, and MJ was supposed to be in law school right now, too. This phone call was probably just practice for her.

“He’s not picking up my calls,” Tony said. “I don’t know what he’s doing, but I just want to make sure he’s safe.”

“You want me to tell him to call you,” MJ deadpanned.

Tony was glad that MJ couldn’t see his expression.

“I don’t know,” MJ said slowly. “If Peter left without telling you, then there’s got to be a good reason. Especially with you.”

Tony closed his eyes. He could see Peter’s stunned face, see the hurt and panic slowly spreading across Peter’s face right before Tony had run after Morgan. What had he told Peter? _I think it’d be best if you_ …

He hadn’t finished. He didn’t know what he was going to say. Just that he needed to go after Morgan, because suddenly everything was crumbling apart in the way that Tony had feared from the beginning—

“I messed up,” Tony said at last, opening his eyes. “I did something I shouldn’t have. Didn’t think. And Peter got hurt.” He let his voice drop, afraid that if he made it any louder, MJ would hear it crack. “And that should have never happened.”

“What did you do?”

“I can’t—”

“Yes you can,” MJ said chillingly. “Because right now, you’re talking to one of Peter Parker’s best friends. And if you want to get to him, you need to go through me first. And if you _hurt_ him so bad that he would _run away_ , then I’m going to know the facts.” There was a heartbeat of silence, and then MJ added, “And I know that you two are fucking, so don’t even think about holding back.”

Tony was _very_ glad that MJ couldn’t see his expression.

“How did you—”

“Figured it out a few days ago,” MJ said flatly. “Had my suspicions for a few weeks.”

Tony looked down at the ground. “Peter said you were good.”

“I’m not good,” MJ said. “I’m excellent. Now, come on. What did you do.” Not a question.

“Morgan found us,” Tony said.

“Like… _found_ you, or—”

“Kissing,” Tony interrupted.

“So she saw you,” MJ said, and Tony imagined MJ taking notes—if she was the type of person to take down notes at all—probably at a shiny desk. Or in one of those cramped desks in the lecture hall. Either way, Tony could imagine there was notetaking involved. “And judging by the situation, I’m going to take a wild guess and say she wasn’t happy. You panicked.”

“I messed up,” Tony said. “I…” His voice drifted, helpless. “This is on me. All of it. Full responsibility, full stop—my fault.” There was something strangely cathartic about saying all of that at once—everything seemed to come rushing out, and Tony had the feeling that he had been waiting to say those words for the longest time. “I don’t blame him for running,” Tony said at last, even though his chest hurt just saying that. “I don’t.” He tilted his head back against the door. “But I need to make sure he’s okay.”

For a moment, MJ didn’t speak. Tony would have thought she had hung up if it hadn’t been for the fact that he didn’t hear the beeping of an ended call. He was about to ask if she was there anyways when MJ said flatly, “You don’t get to make sure he’s okay. Not when you break his heart like that.”

 _I know_.

“I know,” Tony said quietly.

“I’m still talking,” MJ said. There was a loud, long sigh. “Listen. I get it. You had to take care of Morgan. She’s your daughter. And she was—maybe is, I don’t know—pissed. And you needed to talk to her. Big time. So I get that part, okay? And Peter’s not an idiot—he probably gets that, too.” She paused. “But also, if I know Peter as well as I do, and I’m _ninety-nine point nine percent sure I do_ ,” she added, “he’s probably feeling just as scared and as shitty about himself as you do now. So.”

“So?”

“ _So_ ,” MJ repeated, “I don’t know: you’re Tony Stark, aren’t you? You do things big. So go do your big something. Let him know that you still want a chance with him—because that’s what you’re saying, right? Unless I’m totally off my game? Which I’m almost always not?”

“You’re not,” Tony confirmed.

“Okay,” MJ said, sounding almost pleased. “Great.” She sighed again. “I’ll give my shot at talking to him, though. Just in case.”

“I—thank you,” Tony said, and he meant it.

“Yeah, whatever,” MJ said. “When all of this blows over, don’t think I’m not still going to interrogate you.” She paused. “Good luck.” With that, she hung up.

\--

Tony tried calling Peter again.

Peter didn’t pick up.

\--

Tony tried to write a few text messages. He had texted before, but now, after MJ’s call, each text felt a little more urgent than before. But each time he started a text message, a whole flood of nonsense words would come rushing out: _come back, I miss you, we need to talk, I want to talk to you, I need you to talk to me—_

And every time, Tony would delete those messages and rest his forehead against the kitchen island because that seemed like the only sensible thing to do.

Morgan, on the other hand, was quietly reading from the living room couch. Although she hadn’t said anything, Tony could feel from her quick glances at his phone that she, too, was waiting for Peter to call back, even if she was—Tony suspected—still mad.

“Maybe he’s busy,” Morgan suggested at last.

“Maybe,” Tony murmured, forcing his forehead up from the island. He looked at Morgan, who was already returning to her book. “Is that for school?”

“No.”

Tony frowned. “Don’t you have homework?”

Morgan gave Tony a sidelong glance, and Tony shook his head wearily. “Right, right,” he said. “I wouldn’t want to do homework either.” He looked back down at his phone. His text messages remained unsent, phone calls remained un-dialed.

“Come on,” Tony muttered to himself. “Big move. Big move.”

He reached for his phone, dialed Peter’s number.

One ring.

Two rings.

Three rings.

Tony was starting to think that he must have filled Peter’s voice mail inbox by now when there was the soft click of someone picking up.

Tony’s heart leapt up his throat. “Hello?” he said, his voice just barely above a whisper.

“Tony.”

“ _Peter_ ,” Tony breathed. “Thank God. I—listen, I know that things are—”

“Yeah, yeah,” Peter interrupted, and Tony paused. Peter’s voice was oddly chipper— _too_ chipper—and then Peter said, “Listen, Tony, I gotta go. Um—tell Morgan that I’m gonna take her out for ice cream later, okay? Yeah? Uh-huh.”

“Peter,” Tony said slowly, his blood running cold, “what’s going on?”

“Yeah, yeah, nice talking to you too. See you later,” Peter chirped, and the phone call ended.

Tony froze, his phone still held up to his ear.

Something was terribly wrong.

“Daddy?” Morgan was looking at Tony. Her brows were furrowed together. “Was that Peter?”

Tony slowly turned to Morgan. “Peter just said that he was going to take you out for ice cream,” he said, his voice distant.

Morgan groaned. “Ice cream,” she muttered. “Peter only ever takes me out for ice cream when things are wrong.” Then, she spun back around to Tony, her eyes growing wide. “Wait a second—”

“Tracker in his suit,” Tony only said. “Gonna go find him.”

“Wait! Hold on!” Morgan called, scrambling after Tony as he headed for the garage. “Is he in trouble?”

“Got a bad feeling that he is,” Tony said, and then, turning around to Morgan, he added, “Go back inside. I’ll take care of this.” But Morgan was already moving past Tony, the garage lighting up around her. Tony watched as she made a beeline for one of the suits—a decoy, really, but before she could step in, Tony rushed forward. “What are you _doing_?”

“You said that Peter’s in trouble,” Morgan said, looking up at Tony. “So we gotta go help.”

Tony didn’t know whether to laugh or groan at his daughter. At his precious, brave, incredibly determined daughter who know looked at Tony with the dead-set expression that could have only come from Pepper. “That’s a bad idea.”

“Don’t care.”

Tony counted five seconds before assessing the situation. “Well, shit,” he muttered. He jerked his head to the side. “At least get in a suit that fits you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, comments/kudos are always greatly appreciated!


	25. TWENTY-FIVE

Peter woke up cold.

And then he felt the wind—sharp, stinging, carrying the bite of an early winter. Before he could control himself, a low hiss left his lips as he tried to curl into himself tighter—but no, wrong move, because that _hurt_.

“Awake already?”

Peter opened his eyes. For a moment, he thought that he hadn’t opened them at all, because it was so dark, but no, he blinked again, and this time he could make out the city lights far below him. _Far_ below him. Peter sucked in a sharp breath and tried to lurch backwards, but he slammed his head against something cold and metal instead. Yellow dots blinked across Peter’s eyes as he re-focused from the lights to Harry Osborn’s figure making its way toward him.

“What did you do?” Peter croaked.

“Just a little something to knock you out,” Harry said. He gestured down to the city lights. “You have to admit—this is quite the view.”

Peter craned his neck. They were on top of a building somewhere. Peter could see the Empire State Building in the distance. “Where…” his throat was too dry. Peter swallowed back a cough as he tried to look to his other side, but he was, he realized, strapped in too tight. “Where are we?”

“You don’t know?” Harry sounded disappointed. “As a New Yorker yourself, I figured you would recognize this place from the view.”

“A little tied up at the minute,” Peter mumbled.

Harry smiled. “Ha,” he said before turning back around to the view. “Well, I suppose not everyone would want to visit the World Trade Center. Has too much baggage for people.” He glanced back at Peter. “You couldn’t have been old enough to remember that day, I’m sure. Probably just a few months old, if you were even born yet.”

Peter’s blood went cold. “We’re on top of the World Trade Center?” he asked. “ _Why_?”

“Tallest building in New York,” Harry replied. “Come now, I thought you would know this.” He turned around completely to Peter, arms folded over his chest. “A bit symbolic too, I suppose. I like the dramatics.” He tugged something out of his pocket, and Peter flinched as the sharp point of a needle was pointed towards him. Harry smiled again. “A bit nervous, are we?”

“What are you going to do with that thing?” Peter only asked.

Harry, to Peter’s relief, withdrew the needle. “Well, Peter, that thing I mentioned about people being lazy, complicit—you _do_ remember that tidbit, don’t you?” Not waiting for a response, Harry bent down to take something out of what Peter could make out was a small bag. “Everyone has some special gimmick these days. A fancy suit, super strength, magical hammers.” Harry lifted his eyes to Peter. “Or, in your case, a radioactive spider bite.” Harry tugged out something that looked like a pen—but when Harry tapped the side, the pen-object hollowed out. Harry inserted a needle and tapped the side of the pen again, letting it close. “But who said that you hero-types had to have all the fun?” He held up the pen object up to Peter’s face, close enough that if Peter moved even the slightest bit, it would be touching his forehead. “This time, everyone will get a chance.”

“By turning into that thing?” Peter asked, nodding down at the object in Harry’s hand. “Do you really think people want to become that?”

“It’s better than staying helpless, isn’t it?” Harry asked, his lips twisting into an ugly snarl. It was an odd look—Peter had grown used to the pleasant mask that had been Harry’s face, but this was something else. It looked wrong. “Better than bumping around the world like a bunch of ingrates.” He leaned in closer to Peter. “And _you_ are going to help me show them that.”

“I won’t.”

“You _will_ ,” Harry said, holding up the device closer to Peter’s face. He nodded up at what Peter figured was the needlepoint of the World Trade Center. “You’re going to get _this_ all the way up there.”

“And if I don’t?” Peter fired back.

Harry smiled, the snarl smoothing out from his face. “I know where you live, Peter,” he said quietly. “And I know where your aunt lives, and where your friends live, and I know where even Tony Stark lives.” He tilted his head. “Did you really think I wouldn’t be able to track your calls even to Tony Stark’s little hideaway?”

Peter’s heart sank. “Don’t touch them,” he whispered. “ _Don’t_ —”

“I won’t have to,” Harry said quietly. “If you do this.”

Peter flicked his eyes down at the device in Harry’s hand. _Idiot_. He had been such an idiot, going to Harry without an actual plan.

“So, Mr. Parker,” Harry said, “what do you say?”

Peter closed his eyes. There had to be another way out of this. _Think, think, think_ …

Before Peter could think of anything to say, a bright ringing broke through the silence.

Peter opened his eyes. His phone.

Harry put the device in his pocket. “How rude,” he said. Quicker than Peter could react, Harry dug his hand into Peter’s back pocket and yanked the phone out. Peter watched as Harry’s annoyance slowly turned into curiosity and then lazy satisfaction. “Well,” he said, turning the phone over so that the screen was facing Peter, “speak of the devil.”

Peter’s throat tightened as Tony’s face stared back up at him.

“Go on, then,” Harry said, tapping his thumb on the screen. He pressed the phone to Peter’s ear. “Say a few words, if you will.” Voice lowering, he said, “But if you say even one word about this, I promise I’ll make sure you hear Tony Stark as he bleeds out.”

Peter swallowed. Tried to keep his voice steady as he said once, “Tony.” _God_ , he wanted Tony right now—wanted to be back in bed suddenly, wanted to bury his face in Tony’s chest, wanted to feel Tony’s hands down his back. That all felt a lifetime ago.

“ _Peter_ ,” Tony said, and Peter wanted to cry, because Tony sounded so relieved and surprised— _surprised_ , as though he hadn’t expected Peter to pick up, and Peter suddenly wished that he _had_ picked up seven phone calls ago. “Thank God. I—listen, I know that things are—”

Peter could see Harry’s hand tightening over the phone, hear the slight clench of knuckle against metal, feel the threat coming. Peter saw Tony’s face flash before his eyes, and again, he just wanted to be back at the house. He would wait in the living room. Wait for Tony to talk things through with Morgan, explain things himself. He would pick up the damn phone. He would do all of that.

“Yeah, yeah,” Peter said quickly. “Listen, Tony, I gotta go.” He looked once at Harry. _Is that what you want?_ “Um—tell Morgan that I’m gonna take her out for ice cream later, okay? Yeah? Uh-huh.” Each word was a knife twisting in Peter’s gut, a blow to the windpipes as he tried his best to keep his voice light. Casual. He looked at Harry again, holding his gaze in a silent glare. _Don’t you dare touch them._

“Peter.” Tony’s voice was suddenly quiet, and Peter wanted to scream, because _God_ , he can’t sound serious now, not with Harry listening—“What’s going on?”

Now. He needed to end the call now.

“Yeah, yeah, nice talking to you too,” Peter said, his voice just barely wobbling at the end. “See you later!” With that, he pulled his head away from the phone, letting Harry end the call.

“He doesn’t know anything,” Peter said as soon as Harry dropped the phone against the ground. “He doesn’t—Harry, _please_ —”

“Tony Stark isn’t an idiot,” Harry said, although whether he was talking to Peter or to himself, Peter couldn’t tell. Harry turned away to the skyline, his shoulders squared and straight. Then, turning back around to Peter, Harry whipped out the device from his pocket. “So I advise that you work quickly.”

\--

Peter was still shaking when he started climbing up the needlepoint—although whether that was from the cold or from his own nerves, he didn’t know. Harry had discarded Peter’s web-shooters, so Peter was climbing up the old-fashioned way, without even his suit. Not that Peter cared. If anything, he would have been even more reluctant to climb up the needlepoint in his suit. At least he was working slowly.

He crawled up the needlepoint, Harry’s device weighing heavily in his back pocket. His mind scrambled for some way to get rid of the device. Peter considered flinging it as far as he could off the building—but then he thought about what would happen if the needle cracked on the pavement, how some poor pedestrian could get serum absorbed straight into the skin: if the serum even worked like that, that is. Peter considered just leaving the device at the top of the needle un-activated, pretending that the device didn’t work at all—but Peter knew that Harry would check himself if he had to.

Peter was halfway up the needle now. He glanced down once. Harry waited patiently as ever down below, his arms folded over his chest. Peter swung his gaze back around, but then he was looking at the top of the needle, which was getting closer and closer with each passing second.

Peter couldn’t let Harry get away with this.

Peter looked at the device in his hand, a slow realization coming to him. He couldn’t throw it off the building or fake activating the device—but if there was no serum left in the needle whatsoever, then Peter could mitigate whatever damage would be waiting in the wings…

Peter tightened his grip on the device. If he took the serum himself, what would happen? He thought of how Harry—Green Goblin, whatever, whichever—had been able to move through the buildings. Harry could change back, so Peter could, right?

Beads of cold sweat glanced off Peter’s forehead as he shifted the device over to his other hand. He could—he _could_ —

A sudden rush of wind from above forced Peter’s gaze upwards, and all Peter saw was a quick blur of red and gold before he registered that it was _Tony_ —

Followed by a blur of purple and silver, and it took a second too long for Peter to realize that the smaller suit had to be Morgan, because there was no one else who could fit a suit that small—

And if Peter could see them, then he knew that Harry had to have seen them, too. Peter only took one glance down at Harry who, sure enough, was running for the bag at the edge of the building. Peter saw the quick glance of a needle, and then Peter lifted his head back up to Tony and Morgan, shouting, “Get _out of here!_ Get _out_ —” But Peter didn’t get to finish, because then Tony had flown straight up to him, web-shooters in hand.

“Taking Morgan out for ice cream?” Tony asked dryly.

Peter didn’t know whether to scream or laugh because this was _Tony_ here, but at the same time, this was Tony _here_ , and Harry was down below—

“You shouldn’t have come,” Peter said, his voice cracking. “You’re not supposed to—”

“Don’t tell me what I’m supposed to do,” Tony said, dropping the web-shooters into Peter’s hand. “Not now.”

Peter swallowed. “Is that—”

“Hi, Peter,” Morgan said, flying up beside Tony. Her voice sounded strange through the helmet, but it was definitely Morgan. “I figured it out first.”

“Morgan,” Peter said, wishing he could look through the helmet, “I’m _sorry_ —”

“We’re going to have to talk about that later,” Tony interrupted, looking down at the rooftop. Peter followed Tony’s gaze to see Harry twitching, head thrown back, eyes blown wide open as his muscles seemed to contort and twist before him. “That’s not looking too pretty.”

“What—” Peter was interrupted by a chilling howl. Harry threw himself back down on the rooftop, his hands growing into scaly claws, his legs lengthening into the haunches of what Peter knew would be the creature he had fought already. “That’s not good.”

“Now is where you suit up,” Tony advised.

Peter didn’t need to be told twice. He clicked his web-shooters together and a moment later, he was in his suit, Harry’s device still in his hand. “Harry wants to turn the population into…that,” Peter said, nodding down at Harry. He held up the device in his hand.

“That’s not happening,” Tony said. “Wanna get rid of it?”

Peter nodded. A silent exchange passed between them, and without another word, Peter tossed the device up in the air. A beam of energy followed shortly afterwards, and the device was nothing more than little bits of ash.

Another howl forced Peter and Tony’s attention back down. Harry—now fully transformed—was glaring straight up at them, green eyes narrowed.

“I think you made him mad,” Morgan observed as Harry launched himself at the base of the needle. The structure underneath Peter shook as Harry started climbing up. “ _Really_ mad.”

“Peter,” Tony said warningly, but Peter only inched up the needlepoint. “You have to—”

“Don’t worry,” Peter said, glancing down at Harry. He was moving faster than Peter anticipated. Peter quickened his pace up the needle, all too aware of the steady shaking underneath him. He glanced over at Tony and Morgan, grateful that they couldn’t see his face under the mask. “You guys—clear the streets.”

“You’re not—”

“Listen,” Peter said, holding up one of his hands, “worst comes to worst, I can web myself out of here. But Harry can’t.” His stomach went cold just saying those words, but he looked down at the creature crawling up the needlepoint again. Thought about how people had been thrown around like dolls under this thing’s grip. “Hopefully, it won’t come down to that, but if it has to…” Peter glanced up at Tony and Morgan again. “We just gotta make sure there’s no one around in case it does.”

There was a loud roar, and Peter latched onto the needlepoint just in time as the whole structure swayed. Peter half-expected the whole thing to snap, but no, now it was just tilted.

“Peter—”

“ _Go_ ,” Peter said harshly, looking up at Tony. “I’ll be fine.” He turned to Morgan. “Okay?” He glanced down at Harry. “Just be quick about it.”

“Two minutes,” Tony said at last. “We’re giving you two minutes.”

“I can last that long,” Peter said, and he would have smiled if the shaking hadn’t started again. “Go.”

Tony and Morgan vanished in flashes of red and purple, and then Peter was left alone, staring down at Harry’s narrowed eyes.

“Okay, ugly,” Peter said under his breath, “let’s see what you’ve got.”

With that, Peter swung himself up to the top of the needlepoint, just barely catching on as the whole structure bent a degree lower. He landed on the side with a soft _thud_ just as the shaking increased. Peter didn’t have to look to now that Harry was full-on charging up the needlepoint now. _He was waiting_ , Peter thought, bracing himself. He wanted to get Peter alone.

Peter clenched his jaw. _Well,_ he thought. He was alone. For two minutes.

Two whole minutes. He can survive that long.

“Come on!” Peter shouted, leaning a little ways from the needlepoint. “What’s taking you so long?”

The answering creak of the structure underneath Peter’s feet was the answer as Harry rampaged up. Peter only had a second to crawl up an inch higher as he narrowly missed Harry’s clawed hand. Sucking in a sharp breath, Peter launched himself around the needlepoint. Hands gripped onto a length of webbing still stuck to the side, Peter swung around the structure feet-first. He found purchase right at the side of Harry’s face and cringed, because he didn’t feel skin—but instead rock-hard scales. Peter heard a small, annoyed grunt from under him, felt the structure sway again as Harry tilted his head back.

Peter landed again at the other side of the needle. “C’mon,” he muttered. He had to get Harry off-balance. At least up here, he had the upper hand. At least, Peter only just thought that as the sudden crack under Peter’s hands and feet signaled him otherwise.

 _That’s not good_ , Peter thought just in time as the top of the needlepoint started to crack. He kicked himself off the needle point and let himself drop below, skid right underneath Harry as the needlepoint fell way. He heard the dull crash of the needlepoint against the rooftop and then the menacing, low hum that could only come from Harry.

Peter glanced up at Harry’s retreating figure—turning back around to come for him.

Peter couldn’t allow that.

 _Here goes nothing_ , Peter thought, and just as Harry was close enough for Peter to smell sour breath, he kicked himself up and landed squarely on Harry’s shoulders. Peter ducked down and found Harry’s ears—pointed, _weird_ —as Harry roared, shaking his head angrily.

Peter held on for dear life as he was violently jerked back and forth, grinding his feet against Harry’s shoulders just so. _You’re not getting away this time_ , Peter thought grimly, and he let webbing fly from his hands. He heard the light shock of the webs over Harry’s eyes, followed by the expected cry of pain. Even despite it all, Peter couldn’t help but wince.

“You shouldn’t have started this,” Peter said, wondering if Harry could even hear him above all the noise. “You didn’t have to do this.”

Maybe Peter shouldn’t have spoken, because then Harry launched himself off the needle point. Peter let out a shout as they barreled down to the rooftop. They landed with a shock, Peter’s grip on Harry’s ears just barely loosening before a clawed hand wrapped itself around Peter’s middle.

Peter gasped, seeing yellow and black dots as Harry brought him back in front, only inches away from his scaly face. “I’m done playing,” was all Harry said before he rushed to the edge of the rooftop. Peter felt empty air give way beneath him as Harry thrust him over the edge, his grip tightening around Peter’s middle.

“Relax,” Harry hissed. “I’m not going to let you go.” He squeezed harder, and the grip was so tight that Peter couldn’t even gasp this time. He felt like his chest was being compressed harder and harder as Harry continued, “I’m not a fool to let you find your way out of this this time.”

Peter tried to open his mouth, say something—anything—but his lips only opened and closed, unable to find the proper words. He needed _air_ to speak, and he was running out—

“I’ll find out how to do everything myself,” Harry said. “As usual.” He clenched harder, and this time, Peter felt a sharp, white-hot pain burst somewhere inside him. He would have screamed if he could.

“I’ve worked long and hard for this,” Harry whispered. “And you will _not_ get in the—” The high-pitched shriek of laser tore Harry away from the rest of his sentence, and then Harry’s grip suddenly loosened, and Peter was falling. For a few seconds, Peter could only gasp and try to find his breath, and then he shot out his hand in time to let out a piece of webbing. He slammed against the side of the building, and for a second, Peter thought he was going to black out from the pain that erupted in his chest, his side. His arms shook from holding himself up, but when Peter lifted his head, he saw a blur of red and gold flying above Harry’s head and knew that he _had_ to get back up there—

Peter groaned, pulling himself up. He inched his way up from the floors, and then he heard engines roaring past him as Morgan swept beside him.

“Need a hand?” Morgan asked, and without waiting for Peter’s response, she took one of Peter’s arms and rocketed up the side of the building.

“ _Morgan_ ,” Peter could only protest as they went up, “what are you—”

“Relax,” Morgan said, “I got the crash course in this suit. And it’s _awesome_.”

“You need to get out of here,” Peter said. “This isn’t safe—”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Morgan replied, and there it was, Peter heard the underlying ice in her voice that told him that things still weren’t okay.

“This is different,” Peter said. “Do you see that?” He gestured to Harry’s figure growing larger and larger as they shot up.

“I did,” came Morgan’s reply. “I do.” Her grip seemed to tighten on Peter as they reached the rooftop. “But I’m kinda tired of being scared.” With that, she let go of Peter on the roof as Tony shot another beam of energy hit Harry in the back.

“So,” Tony said, dodging Harry’s arm, “any bright ideas?”

Peter eyed Harry’s bag at the edge of the rooftop. There had to be more needles in there. “Get rid of Harry’s other serums,” he said, racing towards the bag. “Get rid of Harry.” He came just a foot within the bag’s reach when one of Harry’s feet slammed down in front of him.

“Peter!” Tony shouted, and Peter rolled out of the way before Harry’s other foot could get him. “Are you—”

“I’m fine,” Peter said, suppressing a groan at the re-surfaced pain at his side. “Distract him.” He heard another loud shriek of energy, and when he looked up, it was Morgan, her arms extended as beams of light shot out of both her hands. He watched in half-terror, half-awe as Morgan aimed straight at Harry’s eyes, and then a bone-rattling roar split through the night. Smoke drifted into the sky as Harry stumbled backwards, his hands reaching up for his face.

 _Brutal_ , Peter thought, but it gave him enough time for him to snag the bag and duck out of the way before Harry could regain his footing. “Tony, I got the serum,” he said.

“Toss it up,” Tony instructed, and Peter dutifully threw it as high as he can. A moment later, he watched it turn into nothing more than dust and ash. Peter only had a second to take in the image before he heard another howl.

“ _Ew_ ,” Morgan said, “his eyes are growing back.”

Peter spun around to find Morgan zipping away from Harry’s head, and Peter looked up at Harry’s face, expecting to find the same narrowed eyes, but instead, he stopped short. They were _human_ eyes.

“He’s turning back,” Peter breathed. Dazed, he repeated, “Guys, I think Harry’s turning back. He can’t keep up with us anymore.”

“Does that mean…?” came Tony’s voice, and Peter nodded.

Then, remembering that Tony and Morgan couldn’t see him, Peter said, “We just gotta make it happen faster.” Straightening up, he said, “Give it all you got.”

With that, Peter shot himself up to what remained of the needlepoint. He heard Tony and Morgan’s energy beams shooting at different parts of Harry’s body—heard the gut-wrenching tear of scales and skin and bone as powered webs and laser shot out for the arms, legs, everything.

Peter couldn’t remember the last time he hadn’t heard yelling or shouting or groaning. The ground seemed to shake under him as one of Harry’s knees came crashing down, the great trunk of scales gone and in its place, a growing flesh leg. Peter’s stomach twisted, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t stop, not even as the smoke grew before him. He could hear sirens in the distance, but Peter knew that by the time the local authorities came, there would be nothing to find except for a battered Harry Osborn.

Another flesh knee crashed to the ground, and then Peter saw two pale, flailing arms, and then the claws retracting into hands. And finally, as the smoke cleared, Peter saw Harry’s head, a mass of dark, wet hair covering a practically white face.

Peter didn’t realize he had stopped shooting webs until he felt a hand on his shoulder. A real hand, and Peter jumped, turning around to find Tony staring down at him. “It’s done,” Tony said, and he was so quiet that Peter almost forgot what quiet sounded like.

Peter turned back around to Harry. His chest was rising and falling in shaky, rattling breaths, his eyes squeezed tight. He looked so small and pathetic that Peter felt another twist to his stomach.

Morgan landed next to Peter. “What now?” she asked.

That got Peter to move. “He’s not going anywhere,” he said simply. He let another string of webbing fly—the last one—and clamp itself around Harry.

After that, no one spoke. They all stared down at Harry’s limp figure, and Peter suddenly realized that the sirens had gotten so much louder. He could see the red and blue lights of the police cars and firetrucks down below.

“Well,” Tony said at last, “anyone want ice cream? I know a place that’s still open.”

\--

The whole sight is probably crazy and stupid for the ice cream parlor workers—Peter, Morgan, and Tony all vaguely smelling like smoke and lizard guts as they stumble into the parlor. Morgan in her pajamas, Peter in a t-shirt in thirty-degree weather, and Tony—well, Tony looked fine, although one of the employees couldn’t stop staring. The transaction otherwise was a peaceful affair: chocolate for Peter and Tony, peppermint stick for Morgan. They sat at a booth at the very front of the parlor, with Tony’s back to the front windows and Peter and Morgan staring out.

The seating arrangement had been awkward—at first, Tony had instinctively started to slide in next to Peter, but then they had both frozen, and Tony was luckily suave enough to pretend that he was reaching for a napkin.

But now Peter wasn’t sure if the seating arrangement made any difference, because he had asked Morgan if she wanted a napkin, and Morgan had only made a noncommittal sound in reply. Tony had opened his mouth to say something, but Peter just gave the slightest shake of his head.

The silence between the three of them was growing painful now, with Peter awkwardly dunking his spoon in and out of his ice cream, Morgan pointedly looking up at the ice cream menu, the lights, out the window—anything but Peter.

And that hurt.

“Okay,” Tony said at last, standing up. “I’m gonna use the bathroom for a second.” Before Peter or Morgan could protest, Tony left. Peter let out a sigh, turning back around to the windows. He saw his and Morgan’s reflection side by side, saw Morgan lift her eyes to the reflection in time before whipping her head back down at her ice cream.

Peter looked down at his ice cream too. 

Five seconds passed before Morgan finally said, “Daddy told me everything.”

Peter glanced up at their reflection. Morgan was still looking down at her ice cream. “I’m kinda mad at you still,” she said, picking up her spoon. She dug it into her ice cream but didn’t bother taking it back out.

“I know,” Peter said quietly. “You can be mad at me.”

Morgan gave Peter a sidelong glance. Peter was scared that she’d look away, but she didn’t. “I kinda don’t get it,” she only said. “Like…I saw you guys kissing and stuff.” She bit down on her lip. “I don’t want Daddy to forget Mommy,” she said, and Peter’s heart sank, because that was what he was afraid of hearing because it had to be true.

“I know,” Peter repeated.

Morgan picked at the corner of her spoon. “Daddy told me that he won’t forget Mommy,” she said at last. “He said that he can’t forget about her because of me.” She lowered her head. Then, after a while, she said, “Daddy was really sad after Mommy died. He didn’t smile a lot.”

“Yeah,” Peter said quietly.

Morgan looked back up at Peter. “But…he smiles a lot more now,” she said slowly. “He actually talks like he used to. And he looks like he’s actually _here_. Like he’s not far away.” She pressed her lips together. “And he gets happy when you’re around. When he’s around you.”

Peter’s throat tightened, but Morgan wasn’t done. “I don’t know,” she said. “It’s still kinda weird.” She took a bite out of her ice cream. “But like, as long as you guys don’t get _too_ mushy around me, I think it’ll be okay.” She looked at Peter. “Okay? And you still have to help me with my homework and stuff.”

Peter tried to keep his voice level as he asked, “Even your boring-but-easy homework?”

“Especially my boring-but-easy homework,” Morgan replied. She nodded at Peter. “Now can you please give me a napkin?”

Peter plucked a few napkins out of the dispenser and handed them over to her. “You’re sure about this?”

“About the napkins? Yeah,” Morgan said, wrinkling her nose. “My hands are all sticky.”

“No,” Peter said, watching Morgan wipe the napkins over her fingers, “I mean the other thing. About your dad and me.” He met Morgan’s eyes. “Because if you’re not ready—”

“No,” Morgan interrupted. She lifted her head up to Peter and shrugged. “I’m tired of being scared,” she said at last. “And I think Daddy is, too.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Morgan nodded. “By the way, I’m going to need more napkins.”

\--

“Is everything okay?” Tony asked, sliding in across the table.

“Yup,” Morgan said matter-of-factly. She stuck another spoonful of ice cream into her mouth. “Mission accomplished.”

Tony lifted his eyebrows and turned to Peter.

“More than okay,” Peter confirmed, and he smiled.

And when Tony smiled back, Peter wished he could keep a picture of that smile forever.

\--

“So,” Tony said as they stood outside Peter’s apartment.

“So,” Peter repeated, turning around. Morgan was playing with the neighbor’s cat at the end of the hallway, although whether that was because of the cat or the fact that Morgan just wanted to excuse them, Peter couldn’t tell. His neighbors _did_ have a cute cat. He glanced back at Tony. “I’m—”

“No, me first,” Tony said, and Peter stilled as Tony’s hands met Peter’s wrists. They slid down into Peter’s palms, fingers entwined around his. They were warm, familiar. “I’m sorry. About everything.”

“Tony—”

“I’m serious,” Tony said. “You got hurt. I hurt you.” He met Peter’s eyes. “And even before then, I should have said something to Morgan. We shouldn’t have done this…stupid dance from the start.”

“You were worried,” Peter said, and as hurt flickered across Tony’s face, he corrected, “ _We_ were worried.” He squeezed Tony’s hands. “And now we’re here.” He glanced over Tony’s shoulder at Morgan, still petting the neighbor’s cat. “And she’s…better about it.”

“I shouldn’t have let you run,” Tony said. “That was my mistake.”

“I didn’t answer your calls,” Peter pointed out. “I could have picked up, and we could have talked about it.”

“You were busy trying to save the world,” Tony countered.

“But before then,” Peter said. “I should have texted you back. Then we could have annoyed this whole…situation.”

“You’re allowed to drag me into situations,” Tony said. “Drag me into all the situations you want.” He tugged at Peter’s wrists, causing Peter to stumble just a little closer to Tony. Then, Tony paused. “That is, if you want to.” He looked down at Peter. “Only if you want to.”

Peter looked back up at Tony. “I want to,” he said. He swallowed. “I want to,” he repeated, and he pushed himself upwards just the slightest bit, just enough for him to catch Tony’s lips. He felt Tony’s hold on his wrists slacken, felt Tony’s hands move up to his arms, his back instead as Tony kissed back, leaned into him, and all Peter could think was _finally, finally, finally_ —

Peter pulled away, heard his own breaths push out of him as he leaned against Tony, felt Tony’s forehead bump against his.

“So I’ll take that as a definite yes?” Tony asked, sounding so ridiculously hopeful that Peter couldn’t help but laugh.

“Yeah,” he whispered. He looked up at Tony. “Caught me.”

\--

Peter went to bed feeling happier than he had in a long, long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Crazy how close we are to the end! 
> 
> As always, comments/kudos are greatly appreciated!


	26. TWENTY-SIX

Tony had too many emails waiting for him in the morning. That, followed by too many news headlines, all of which read something along the lines of ‘Stark Industries CEO Behind Green Goblin Attacks’. Tony took only one glance at one of the emails: one of which started off by talking about mitigating press, to which Tony promptly turned over his phone so that he couldn’t see any more of the message. Press would be something he’d deal with later.

Pepper had always been good at dealing with the press. Tony thought about that now, as his laptop played his photo stream across the screen. Pepper had laughed a little when she realized that that was Tony’s screen saver. “I’m sentimental now,” Tony had said, and Pepper had smiled, rested her head on Tony’s shoulder as they watched images from their first press conference together (Pepper, with her hair still in the semi-frizzy ponytail, watching a smug Tony address some reporters) to the first time Pepper actually helped Tony with his suit (Rhodey had taken that one—an exasperated Pepper picking a mildly smoking Tony off the workshop floor) to vacations to their wedding to quiet nights in to that one hiking trip Pepper had insisted on to Pepper and Tony looking down at just-born Morgan to Pepper feeding Morgan from a baby bottle to a family picture: Tony, Pepper, Morgan in the middle. There had been multiple pictures that day: first Morgan wouldn’t stop moving, and then Tony had looked over at Pepper just before the flash went off, and so the photo Tony looked at now showed just that—Tony, looking at Pepper like she was the brightest thing in the room.

“I’m ready.”

Tony looked up to find Morgan standing in the doorway, her backpack strapped over her shoulders.

“You don’t have to go to school today, you know,” Tony said, pushing himself away from the desk. “You can stay in today. We can watch movies. Go in the workshop. Find some safety mode for your suit.”

“I know,” Morgan replied, lifting her shoulders. “But I don’t wanna miss out.” She shifted her weight to one foot and added almost shyly, “And I think I’m gonna invite some more people to my birthday party. Non-superhero people. Is that okay?”

Tony felt something lighten in his chest. “Of course,” he said. “That is totally, one-hundred percent okay.”

“Great,” Morgan said. Then, tilting her head to the side, she asked, “What were you doing?”

Tony shifted over in his seat, and taking the signal, Morgan walked around to Tony’s desk. She stood next to Tony, and as she made out the images playing across Tony’s laptop, her shoulders relaxed. Tony glanced up at Morgan, found the sad smile on her face.

“I miss her too,” Tony said at last, the photos slowly playing across the screen. Morgan’s birthday. A night at the lake, with Pepper giving the camera a teasing over-the-shoulder smile. A blurry shot of Tony and Pepper holding hands, probably taken by a too-young Morgan fumbling with the phone camera. “But no one can ever replace Mommy.”

Morgan gave the screen a watery smile. She looked back down at Tony and rubbed an arm over her eyes. “I know,” she said quietly. She lowered herself down to the armrest of Tony’s chair and for a moment, they sat there together like that, watching the images fade gradually into the next. They watched as Morgan grew older in those photos: Morgan riding a bike with Pepper pushing gently from behind. Pepper and Tony burying Morgan in the sand. Pepper proudly holding up a bag of apples with Morgan jumping in the background. Tony and Pepper decorating the Christmas tree.

“You’ll keep these pictures?” Morgan asked, her voice wobbly.

Tony rested a hand on Morgan’s back. “Always,” he promised. “Never getting rid of them.”

“Okay,” Morgan said, and the photos slowly transitioned into the ones taken in the last five years. Now it was Peter, standing behind a sleeping Tony with a mischievous smile on his face. Peter and Pepper talking about something while Tony pretended to roll his eyes in the background. Pepper with Morgan on her shoulders as Tony and Peter worked on the bicycle.

“You’re not going to get rid of these either, right?” Morgan asked.

Tony’s chest tightened as the last photo rolled into place. It had been the one last photo before it became too painful to take any more photos. Pepper and Peter both standing behind Tony and Morgan. It had been Peter’s birthday that day, Tony remembered. A warm summer day, Peter’s hair still wet from diving into the lake with Morgan. Pepper’s feet were caked in sand, her cheeks sun-kissed and freckled. Both Pepper and Peter’s hands were resting on Tony’s shoulders.

“No,” Tony said at last. He looked at Morgan. “I think I’ll be keeping them for a long time.”

“Good,” Morgan said. She shifted off Tony’s armchair and, scrubbing at her face another time, she smiled. “Okay. I’m ready to go.”

\--

After Tony dropped Morgan off at school, he found himself standing in front of Peter’s apartment. He realized that technically, Ned could still be there, but when Peter swung open the door, there was no one else inside.

“Hey,” Tony said, swallowing.

“Good morning,” Peter replied, smiling sleepily. His hair was tousled from bed, sweatpants just barely sagging around his hips as he leaned against the doorway. “Wanna come in?”

“Do I,” Tony said dryly, and Peter laughed—a light, lazy sound, and then Peter was snaking an arm around Tony’s neck, dragging him in, and Tony found Peter’s lips, found them like it was the one thing he was looking for this whole time. He stumbled inside, felt Peter laugh against him as Tony closed the door shut behind them.

“Slept well?” Tony asked when they finally broke for air.

“Really well,” Peter replied. His arms sank down to Tony’s shoulders, and he leaned his head back against the wall. “You?”

Tony shrugged. “It’s about to get better.”

“Yeah?” Peter asked, raising his eyebrows.

“Correction,” Tony said, tugging at the corner of Peter’s shirt, “a _lot_ better.”

Peter smiled. “Glad to hear it,” he said. He let go of Tony, and then, pushing himself off the wall, he asked, “Did you eat breakfast yet?”

“I had coffee,” Tony replied.

Peter threw Tony a look over his shoulder. “So we’re having breakfast,” he said, and Tony couldn’t even argue because Peter was already heading into the kitchen.

“When are you going to stop cooking?” Tony asked, leaning against the wall as Peter opened the fridge.

“When you learn to cook for yourself,” Peter replied. He poked his head out of the fridge and tugged out some eggs. “Pancakes. Do you want pancakes?”

“I’ll never say no to pancakes,” Tony replied. “Where’s the flour?”

Peter pointed to one of the cupboards. The two of them made quick work: a bowl, flour. Sugar. Salt. Baking powder. Tony streaked flour across Peter’s shirt by accident, and Peter flicked a bit of milk at Tony’s face in return. Eggs. Peter found chocolate chips and dumped in maybe a few tablespoons more than the recipe called for, but Tony and Peter didn’t care. Peter tossed chocolate chips at Tony until he could catch at least a few in his mouth. Butter hissed on the pan, and Peter poured out batter as Tony crept up behind him. Tony let his arms wrap around Peter’s waist, settled his chin on Peter’s shoulder. Felt Peter relax, let Peter tilt his face towards him, steal breaths and kisses that tasted like chocolate.

“I’m gonna burn the pancakes,” Peter said eventually.

“Let them burn,” Tony mumbled.

That got a laugh out of Peter, and he turned back around to the pan. “Get the plates.”

Tony obliged, and in a few minutes, they were leaning against the kitchen counter, plates of pancakes in their hands. Peter got out the syrup, and they used their hands—the pancakes were small, anyways—and exchanged satisfied grins at the first bites.

“So,” Peter said at last, hopping up on the counter, “how crazy was your morning?”

Tony cast a sidelong glance at Peter. “Did you already read the news?”

“Got an email telling me not to come into work today,” Peter replied, shrugging. “It was sent to everyone, I think. Something about an investigation done to the labs. No one’s allowed to leave the city for the next few days.” He crossed his ankles together, adjusted his grip on his plate. “So how bad?”

“Board is already looking for a new CEO,” Tony replied. “And I had a bunch of emails and voice messages that I haven’t checked yet.” He grimaced. “I’m betting more than half of them are all saying something along the lines of ‘I told you so’, so I’m not in a big rush to check them.”

“This isn’t your fault,” Peter said automatically.

“Yeah, well,” Tony said lightly, shrugging, “I’ve got to own up to some parts of this mess.”

Peter bit down on his lip. “So what’s gonna happen?”

“Well,” Tony said, resting his elbows against the counter, “I told you—the lookout for a new CEO is already starting up.” He met Peter’s eyes and added slowly, “And you know, I can think of a certain someone who knows Stark Industries inside and out.”

Peter set his plate on the counter. “Tony…”

“I’m being serious,” Tony said quietly. He pushed his plate aside so he could fully turn to Peter. “There’s no one else who knows the company as well as you do. You’ve seen all the worst stuff. And the best stuff. And,” Tony added, meeting Peter’s eyes, “the CEO has to be someone I trust. And.” He gestured at Peter. “I trust you.” He swallowed. “A lot more than just trust.” He let his words sit between them, let the quiet ring between them as he watched the words slowly sink into Peter.

“I trust you too,” Peter said at last. “A lot more than just trust.”

“Why do I feel like there’s a _but_ coming?” Tony asked.

“ _But_ ,” Peter said, sliding down from the counter, “I don’t know anything about running a company. _And_ ,” he added as Tony started to protest, “I’m happy where I am right now. Really. I like working in the labs. Workshops.” He tilted his head at Tony. “I mean, can you really picture me wearing a suit to work every day?”

“You’d look good in a suit,” Tony pointed out.

“You think I—okay, hold on,” Peter said, shaking his head. “No. _No_.” He shook his head a few more times. “I’m not going to be the CEO. Okay?” He settled a hand over Tony’s. “It’s not me,” Peter said quietly. He looked up at Tony. “I’m not a business whiz. Not exactly organized. But I know how to make stuff.” He tapped his finger on Tony’s hand. “All that time I spent at Stark Industries—I was always right next to _you_. Not doing the CEO stuff. The building stuff. The creating stuff.” Peter leaned forward just the slightest bit, just enough for Tony to make out even the lightest of freckles on Peter’s face. “That’s where I belong.”

Tony swallowed. “The creative stuff, or the next to me stuff? Because I might have lost you there.”

Peter smiled. “Both,” he said. He squeezed Tony’s hand. “But more about the next to you stuff. Because even if _I’m_ not the CEO, I’ll help you out. If you want me to.”

Tony wanted to kiss him again.

“I’m gonna kiss you,” Tony said. “Just a heads-up.” And he tilted Peter’s chin up towards him gently, just with the barest brush of his finger, and he let himself fall into Peter as though he had done it a thousand times before. He let his hand sink down from Peter’s chin to his chest, could feel Peter’s heart beating lightly under his touch. His other hand still rested on the kitchen counter, supported them as Peter pushed forward, pushed Tony back, and then they were breaking apart, breathing uneven and shaky.

“You don’t need to give me a heads-up next time,” Peter said. He wrapped his hand around Tony’s wrist, and Tony looked down at their hands, looked down at Peter’s hand. “Or ever.”

Tony lifted his eyes back up to Peter. “Okay,” he said quietly.

And he kissed Peter again.

\--

They were washing dishes when the door to the apartment flung open.

“Peter, I’ve been _calling_ you—” Tony and Peter both lifted their heads to find May stop short at the kitchen doorway, her brows furrowed together. “What…?”

A second later, both Ned and MJ came tumbling into the apartment. Ned’s face was a little red, MJ looking a mix of worried and stunned, but then she just shot Tony a quick look of—Tony couldn’t quite tell what it was—before her features settled back into one of total calm.

“Hi May,” Peter said, drying the last plate before pushing it away. “Sorry—I forgot to charge my phone last night.”

“I saw the news,” May said, pushing a hand up to her forehead. “ _Everyone’s_ seen the news. About last night, and Green Goblin—about _Harry_ —are you _okay_?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Peter said quickly. He glanced up at Tony and added, “You might have seen Tony, too. He helped. A lot.”

“Yeah, I saw that,” May replied. “I’m just—you weren’t _answering your phone_ , and last night was—” She stopped short again, her expression turning from one of concern to one of further confusion as she flicked her eyes between Tony and Peter. “So you guys worked out whatever was going on between you two yesterday?” She walked into the kitchen, arms slowly folding over her chest. “What was going _on_ yesterday? Because one second, I’m talking to _you_ ,” she said, jabbing a finger at Tony, “and then I’m talking to _you_ , and then that whole _Green Goblin_ thing happened yesterday, and now the news won’t shut up about Stark Industries and its affiliation with Harry Osborn, and—” May looked between Peter and Tony. “What _happened_?”

Tony looked over at Peter, and Peter looked over at Tony.

Peter lifted his eyebrows and gestured halfheartedly towards May.

Tony’s chest tightened as he flicked his eyes to May—then to MJ, who had suddenly taken interest in her nails.

 _I trust you_ , Tony had told Peter.

 _I trust you_ , Tony thought.

Peter turned fully to May. “Um,” he said, clearing his throat, “so yesterday was kind of…scary. And messy. And kind of confusing. But.” He squared his shoulders. “May,” he said, “you remember when I asked about you and Happy?”

 _He asked about May and Happy_? Tony thought, and under different circumstances, he would have groaned, but given the situation now, he thought it would be best to keep that to himself.

May narrowed her eyes. “What does that have to do with—” Then she looked at Tony again. And for a second, it felt as though May wasn’t looking at Tony at all.

“Peter,” May said slowly, “what’s going on?”

A dead silence filled the room, and for a second, Tony wondered if maybe Peter wasn’t going to say anything at all, but then Peter said, “We’re together.” Tony felt Peter’s hand slide into his, and Peter held on tight. Squeezed Tony’s hand, and Tony squeezed back as May stared. In the background, Tony saw Ned’s lips part in surprise, while MJ remained impassive as ever.

“It only started a few weeks ago,” Peter said quickly. “Maybe a little more than a month? This isn’t what you think it is.”

“So you know what this looks like,” May said, her voice stony. “You _know_ how this looks.” She looked up at Tony. “And I suspect you know what this looks like, too.” She turned around to Ned and MJ. “Did you two know about this?”

Ned shook his head quickly, but when MJ didn’t say anything, both Ned and May’s gazes fixed on her.

“ _MJ_ ,” Ned started, his eyes wide, but May was already there first.

“You didn’t _say_ anything?”

MJ lifted her eyes from her nails. “I would have,” she said, eyeing Peter, “but it’s his life.” She pushed herself off the doorframe.

“Do you tell smokers to keep smoking because it’s _just their life_ , too?” May shot back.

“ _May_ ,” Peter said, “that’s not—”

“What _is_ this then?” May interrupted. “Because Peter, what _I’m_ hearing is that you’ve been seeing someone who you’ve known since you were a _kid_ —” Her face paled then, and she pressed her hands to her face as she said, “Oh, my God, was the guy you were calling the other day _him_?”

At that moment, Tony was fairly certain that both Peter and he wanted the floor to swallow them up.

And frankly, Ned and MJ both looked like they would be rather anywhere but there, and frankly, Tony couldn’t blame them.

“Oh, my God, it _was_ ,” May said. “And what about…that time we took Morgan out to ice cream. What were you two doing?”

Correction: Tony was pretty sure everyone wanted not to just have the floor swallow them up, but also have them transported into the next planet over.

“Do we really need to go over that right now?” Peter asked tightly.

May’s face closed up. “Maybe we don’t,” May said, letting her arms drop from her chest. “But _this—_ do you have _anything_ to say for yourself?” She looked at Tony, her expression so hurt and shocked and _angry_ that Tony knew that if he didn’t say something now, then he wouldn’t be able to say anything ever.

“We were both careful,” Tony said. “I told him this was a bad idea at first, but—”

“This is consensual,” Peter said. “Tony’s not forcing me to do anything. I’m not brainwashed.” He squeezed Tony’s hand again, although whether that was more for Peter or Tony or both of them, Tony wasn’t sure. But Tony squeezed back again anyways. “May,” Peter said slowly, “this is happening.”

Again, silence hung heavy in the kitchen.

“Okay,” May said at last. “I need a minute.”

And then she turned on her heel and left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm holding off on my thank-you note to the end, but I just was hit by so much gratitude this morning in how many of you guys have just followed this fic. Can't believe that there's only one more week left of this fic before I close the last chapter, but I'm so grateful for you guys. <3 
> 
> As always, kudos/comments are greatly appreciated!


	27. TWENTY-SEVEN

“ _Um_ ,” Ned said, his voice unusually high-pitched, “can someone explain what just happened?” He looked at Peter, his eyes growing wider by the second. “Like, is this real? Did that just happen?” He pointed out the door, where May had just left. “And like, she’s really mad, right?”

“Peter…”

“Don’t,” Peter said quickly, letting go of Tony’s hand. He glanced up at Tony. Knew from just one second that everything was slowly crumbling. “I’m going to talk to her, okay?” He hesitated, and reaching up for Tony’s arm, Peter added, “You talked to Morgan, right? So I can talk to May. Just…” He glanced around the small apartment, at MJ and Ned. Peter met MJ’s eyes, and she gave the barest fraction of a nod. Peter felt a burst of gratitude. Turning back to Tony, he said, “Just stay here. I’ll be right back.”

“Text me if things go—”

Peter didn’t let Tony finish. His lips brushed against Tony’s, forced Tony quiet as Peter settled back down. “I’ll call you,” he said, and letting go of Tony, he added over his shoulder, “But _stay_.”

He didn’t wait for an answer as he hurried out the door.

\--

“May! _May_ , hold on—” Peter practically threw himself out the door and fell off the porch just as May stepped onto the sidewalk. For a worrying second, Peter thought that May would actually ignore him, just turn around and keep walking, but May stopped, her back frozen as Peter made his way towards her.

“May,” Peter said, pained, “I’m _so_ —”

“Are you going to say you’re sorry?” May interrupted, turning around to Peter. Her face had gone pale, her lips pressed together in a thin white line. “Because that’s not what I want to hear.” She gestured to the apartment building. “Peter, Tony Stark is a _grown_ man. He is old enough to be your _father_. _He’s_ the one who should be apologizing right now— _more than apologizing_ —not you.”

“I’m an adult too,” Peter argued. “I told you—this didn’t happen until, like, a month ago.”

“Do you think that matters?” May asked, pushing her hands up to her face. “You were a _kid_ when you guys met. A _kid_.” She dropped her hands. “I _know_ that you like Tony, and I _know_ that you two have been through a lot together, but this is…” She shook her head. “This is a bad idea. A _really_ bad idea.”

“That’s what he said too,” Peter couldn’t help but say.

May let out a little sound of disbelief. Which was bad. May didn’t do that unless she was truly, truly upset. “He _said_ it was a bad idea but went along with this anyways?” she asked, exasperated. She shook her head again. “Peter, you have to _hear_ yourself when you say these things. That man’s moral compass—”

“You know Tony too,” Peter interrupted. “You _know_ he’s a good guy.”

“That was _before_ I found out that he was having _phone sex_ with my nephew!”

“ _May_ —”

May turned away sharply, burying her face in her hands. “I don’t understand,” she said, her voice muffled. “I just don’t get it.” She lowered her hands, her eyes watery and searching Peter’s face. “Why did you do it? Is this some—do you think this will fix him? Fix him after Pepper? Because honey—”

“ _No_ ,” Peter said firmly. _God, why does everyone keep saying that?_ “I’m not an _idiot_. I’m not doing this because I feel _bad_ for him. It’s not like that. At all.”

“Then what is this?” May asked wearily.

Peter stuck his hands in his pockets. Decided that didn’t feel right, so he tugged them out. “Not what you think it is,” he said. “It’s not—May, he and I talked about this.”

“But you didn’t talk about it with me,” May said, pained. She crossed her arms. “You didn’t want to tell anyone, right? Because you _know_ there’s something…” Her voice drifted. “There’s a lot of questionable things about this, and you know that.” She searched Peter’s face. “And what _happened_ yesterday? Did yesterday have something to do with you two being—together?”

“Morgan saw us kissing,” Peter replied. He ducked his head down. “So, um. She knows now, too. That was a whole thing.”

“A whole _thing_?” May asked.

“I thought she hated me,” Peter said in a small voice. He looked up at May quickly, dropped his gaze back down on the sidewalk. “I thought Tony hated me for a second too—it was kind of bad.” He lifted his shoulders. “I came back here. Didn’t tell Tony. And he panicked.” He lowered his shoulders and forced himself to meet May’s eyes. “So I know. That this is messed up. Like, _really_ messed up.”

“What did Morgan say?” May only asked. “How does she feel?”

“To be honest, I’m still not sure,” Peter replied. “But I mean—you saw the news, right?”

May’s eyebrows furrowed, and then slowly, recognition dawned on her face as she said, “That little suit—was that—”

“That was Morgan,” Peter confirmed. “She showed up. She’s tough.” He rubbed a hand behind his neck. “And we talked. After.” He paused. “Well, Tony actually kind of made us talk. He dipped into the bathroom, and she told me that she was just trying to adjust to the situation.”

“And?”

“And,” Peter said, pushing his hand back into his pocket, “she just said that Tony’s smiling a lot more.” His voice softened as he added, “That he’s happy.” May looked away from him as he added, “And I’m really happy too.”

“I’m really happy, May,” Peter said again. Pleaded. “I know this is really confusing, and I know you’re probably still mad, but—”

“I’m not mad,” May said quietly. She took off her glasses and rubbed at her eyes. Looking down at her glasses, she repeated, “I’m not mad. I’m just worried.” She tucked her glasses back on her face and tilting her head at Peter, she asked, “Do you remember back when you had just met Tony? Just a little while after he dropped you off from your supposed retreat?”

Peter winced. _That_ had been an entire discussion on its own before, back when May was finding out the truth about Peter being Spider-Man. Some things just never stayed secret for long. Still, he forced himself to nod. “Yeah?”

“I told you—I wasn’t a fan of Tony Stark,” May said. “Told you that he was getting in your head.”

Peter remembered. A Thai restaurant. Peter poking at his food as May tried to assess his uncharacteristic silence. Sticky rice on the house. The very beginning, when Peter was still buzzing with the adrenaline of having _just met Tony Stark_. “Yeah,” Peter said quietly.

May let out a sigh. “I kind of wish he never got in your head.”

Peter couldn’t think of a way to respond to that. _But he’s not_ , he thought. Tony wasn’t just in his head—Tony was in his hands, in his chest. But Peter wasn’t about to say that. Not right now, with May looking at Peter as though she was hanging off the edge of a cliff.

“When you started working at Stark Industries,” May said at last, “I told you that you looked…lighter. You were smiling so much more.” She smiled sadly. “At first, I thought it was just because you had started working, but that wasn’t just it, was it?”

Peter gave one shake of his head.

May let out another sigh. She leaned back a little on her heels, her eyes searching Peter from head to toe, and Peter could almost see what he looked like to her: taller now—a little broader in the shoulders than he had been in his teenage years. Not wearing his science pun tees (not right now, anyways).

“He makes you happy?” May asked at last.

Peter nodded.

May sighed again. “Okay,” she said, and she walked past Peter and back into the apartment building.

And Tony was, to Peter’s relief, still waiting in the apartment when Peter and May walked in. He was sitting on the couch, facing Ned and MJ, who were standing across from him with crossed arms. (Or, MJ with crossed arms, Ned with his hands still dangling at his sides.)

“You guys are back,” Ned said, sounding half-surprised, half-relieved. “What—”

“Okay,” May said, striding into the room, and Tony stood up immediately, and Peter would have laughed if this had been any other circumstance. “Here’s how it’s going to be.” She stuck a finger at Tony, her eyes narrowed. “You just better take it slow, mister.”

Tony lifted up his hands. “Slow and steady,” he said evenly.

“Damn right,” May muttered, taking a step back. She turned back around to Peter. “That goes for you too. Just because you’re an adult now doesn’t mean you can go fly to Vegas at the drop of a hat.”

“No Vegas trips,” Peter said meekly.

“Good,” May said. She shot another look at Tony and repeated, “No Vegas trips.”

“I don’t like Vegas,” Tony replied.

“Nice to know,” May said, and she turned to Peter again, her expression softening. She squeezed his arm and, looking around the apartment, said, “I figure you guys have some more talking to do.” She gave an emphatic nod at Ned and MJ, who were still standing across from Tony. She squeezed Peter’s arm again. “But we’re not done talking, got it?”

“Got it,” Peter said, but he was relieved, because if May wanted to talk more, then she meant she was still adjusting. And adjusting was good.

When May walked out of the apartment, Ned said, “Sorry— _what_? Am I the last to know?” He whirled around to MJ, eyes narrowed. “How long have _you_ known? How did _I_ not know?” He whirled around to Peter, saying almost wounded, “I’m your _roommate!_ ”

Peter winced, but MJ was already speaking. “I’ve known since, like, three days ago,” she said. “But technically, I had an idea since it basically started.” She lifted her shoulders. “Probably a little before, too.”

“Not _before_ ,” Peter protested. “ _I_ didn’t even know yet—”

“ _Yes_ , well _I_ did,” MJ said loftily. She looked at Ned. “And also, how _didn’t_ you know? You’re his roommate. I live in Cambridge.”

“I’m turning into a bot,” Ned said, disbelieved. “A bot who’s only worried about working nine to five and getting a bonus.” Eyes widening, he whirled around to Peter. “ _Dude_. Why didn’t you say anything?”

Peter glanced over at Tony, who looked a mix of equally exasperated and disbelieved. Peter turned back around to Ned. “I mean, it’s…a lot.”

“ _Yeah_ ,” Ned said, “but like, your life is _always_ a lot. No offense,” he added after a second. He gestured out the window. “And, like, you were just fighting _Green Goblin_ , who just turned out to be your _boss_.”

“You don’t find this…weird?” Peter asked.

“Not weird,” Ned said, “but like…” He shrugged. “I mean,” he looked at Tony. “Still low-key annoyed that you didn’t tell me, but like. I don’t know.” He turned back to Peter. “You happy?”

Peter nodded.

Ned shrugged. “Then it’s cool.”

Peter smiled, never feeling more relieved than in that moment. “Thanks, man.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Ned said, bumping his fist against Peter’s. He nodded at Tony and then, glancing down at his watch, grimaced. “And now my boss is probably wondering why I’m taking so long in coming back from my lunch break.” He patted Peter on the back. “Catch you later. You gotta catch me up.”

“Will do,” Peter said. He lifted his eyes to MJ. “And you?”

MJ shrugged. “You already know,” she said. She looked at Tony. “And you do, too.”

Peter looked over at Tony, confused, but he just nodded back.

“Right,” MJ said. “See you guys around. Try not to run into any more mad scientists or whatever.” She started to walk out of the apartment, but before leaving, she looked over her shoulder and shot Peter and Tony a small smile. “Just next time, if you guys fight, at least pick up each other’s phone calls before calling me. I’m not a messenger.” With that, she took Ned’s arm, and they were both out of the apartment.

\--

Peter started laughing first. He hadn’t meant to laugh—but it slipped out: a small half-sigh, half-giggle that turned into more giggles that turned into actual laughter as he sank his head right against Tony’s shoulder.

“You good?” Tony asked, resting his hand against Peter’s back.

Peter lifted his face up to Tony, smiled. “Really good,” he said, and he caught Tony by the lips, smiled because he could feel Tony smiling. He felt Tony’s hands drop down his back as Peter leaned into him, pushing Tony back just the barest amount, just to keep them swaying.

“What about you?” Peter managed to ask, breaking for just a second. “Are you good?”

Tony smiled. “Really good,” he echoed, and he leaned down to kiss Peter again, and Peter let Tony push him back, took a few lazy steps back as Tony’s lips moved from his lips to cheek to ears. And Peter just let him, and he kept moving back until his back hit something. His door.

A brief pause, a silent exchange, and then Peter was turning his doorknob, guiding them into his bedroom—his small bedroom, but neither seemed to care, not when Peter dragged Tony down with him into the bed, not when Peter let Tony cradle his head as their lips met each other again, not when Tony’s other hand moved for Peter’s pants, not when Peter started pushing Tony’s shirt up so he could feel bare skin. They were a scramble of hands and soft laughter and desperate “off, off, off” as clothes were tossed abandoned against the wall, and Peter couldn’t help but think with some giddy irony about how just weeks ago, Tony and Peter had been propped up against that wall, watching the shadows and the sun dance across the floorboards, and Peter couldn’t help but wonder if really maybe even then, they had known this was going to happen—

“Down,” Tony whispered, and Peter gladly let himself fall back, a soft sigh escaping his lips as Tony leaned down over him. Peter found Tony’s hands at his wrists, let Tony push his arms out as Tony ducked down to Peter’s collarbone, lips, tongue, teeth meeting skin. Peter shivered, his whole body instinctively tightening, clenching as Tony dipped down to his chest, tongue briefly, lazily meeting nipple.

“What’re you thinking about?” Tony mumbled against Peter’s skin. “Tell me what you’re thinking about.”

Peter’s breath hitched as Tony scooted himself lower, lower—he was at Peter’s stomach now, lips warm. Open.

“You,” Peter said, fighting to keep his voice steady. “Us.”

“What about us?” Tony asked, his hands trailing away from Peter’s wrists, inching up to Peter’s chest. Peter sighed as Tony’s hands pushed up from his navel up to his chest, back to his shoulders—Tony’s _hands_ —

“Do you remember when you helped me move in?” Peter asked. “I— _Tony_ —” Tony had reached lower down Peter’s body, his lips just below the hips.

“I’m listening,” Tony mumbled.

“Are you?” Peter breathed.

“I am,” Tony replied, lifting his eyes up to Peter, and Peter would have grabbed Tony right then and there, if Tony wasn’t already dipping his head down. “Keep talking,” was all Tony said.

“How can I keep talking if you’re—” Peter gripped the sheets as Tony started taking him in, felt tongue at the tip of his cock.

“Yes?” Tony hummed, and Peter pushed his head back as Tony’s lips dipped deeper.

“ _Interrupting_ ,” Peter said through gritted teeth, but really, he didn’t care—he couldn’t care, not as Tony started building a slow, easy rhythm, one hand resting on Peter’s hip, the other just resting at the base of the shaft. Peter instinctively lifted his hips, found himself needing to meet Tony’s lips, but Tony’s hand pressed him down— _down_ , _not done_ —and Peter could just barely contain the whine threatening to spill over his lips.

Tony hummed a little—a soft, steady vibration that made Peter gasp and look down at Tony resentfully as he came back up the shaft, let his tongue linger at the head.

“Tony,” Peter only keened, shifting his hips, his cock already slick with saliva and pre-come, but Tony was starting to prop himself up. One hand still at the base of the shaft, other hand now sliding onto the mattress, Tony only smiled up at Peter.

“Lube,” Tony instructed, and even with Peter’s cock still throbbing, he managed to reach for his drawer, ignored the little smirk Tony gave as he tossed it over. “Same place?”

“Shut up,” Peter only said, and he only had a few seconds to prepare himself again before Tony was angling himself above him, before Tony pushed in—gently, slowly, almost courteously, and Peter just barely bit back a groan of both frustration and _need_ , because he just needed Tony—

“Breathe,” Tony said, a smile curling over his lips. His hand reached for Peter’s cock, still hard, still wet, and Peter can’t help himself: he actually let out a soft groan as Tony’s hand is moving, and _Tony’s_ moving, and Peter reached for Tony, managed to drag Tony down by the shoulders.

And it was hard to breathe for that moment, with Tony so carefully pushing into him, his hand still working Peter’s cock as they moved together—Peter’s hips just barely pushing up to meet Tony’s pace, Peter’s hands tracing down Tony’s shoulders.

“God,” Tony whispered then, his eyes meeting Peter’s, “I _missed_ you.”

Peter could only smile, feeling ridiculously, stupidly happy and giddy as he replied, “It’s only been, like— _ah_ —a few hours.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Tony replied, his free hand reaching up to the side of Peter’s neck, just gently stroking, leaving goosebumps on Peter’s skin. “Missed you.” And his voice was so soft, so sincere, so _tender_ that Peter could only give Tony a watery smile because _fuck_ , he—

“Missed you too,” Peter whispered. _So much more than just missed_. He took Tony’s hand, pressed it against his chest, held it right above his beating heart as Tony pushed deeper, farther down, and a moan ripped from Peter’s lips as he hitched himself upwards, suddenly so warm—too warm—too _—_

“Fucking _hot_ ,” Peter whined, and he reached down for his cock, but Tony was already there, batting Peter’s hand away as Tony _pushed_ , his hips snapping, his hand stroking fast and hard, and Peter tugged Tony down again, his teeth sinking down into Tony’s shoulder just as he came apart, trembling, shaking, whimpering—and then Tony was coming a second later, a hissed “ _Peter_ ” before Tony was breathing harshly, hotly against Peter’s neck as Peter helped lower him back down against him.

Tony groaned, rolled off Peter, and Peter rolled over on his side then, draping his arms around Tony. Peter propped himself up on an elbow, planted a light kiss on the curve of Tony’s neck. He had meant it as just a smooth, quick gesture, but then Tony turned around then, his hand coming up to meet Peter by the back of his neck. Peter let himself be guided back down to Tony’s lips, let their mouths open lazily against each other as they breathed each other in, took each other in.

“You know what I was thinking about?” Peter asked at last.

“What?”

Peter looked at the wall across them. The sun was still high in the air now, no shadows to be seen right now. “When you helped me move in,” he said. He looked down at Tony, at his dark eyes and lazy smile. “We were right here. And I think…” He swallowed. “I think that’s when we actually started talking. And I’m really glad that we did.” He lowered himself back down to Tony’s side, pressing a hand against Tony’s back. “I don’t know what I would be doing if we didn’t.”

He felt Tony’s breath hitch under his palm, felt the slow tremble as a breath pushed out. And then Tony was rolling over on his side so he was facing Peter. “Neither do I,” Tony admitted. He took Peter’s hand, pressed it to his lips.

“So what now?” Peter asked quietly. He touched his forehead against Tony’s, reveling in the warmth of his body right _there—_ right next to him.

“Now?” Tony repeated. He lifted his eyes to Peter’s. “Now,” he said, “we relax. How does that sound?”

Peter smiled. “Like the best thing in the world.”

\--

Morgan was standing in front of the school by the time Tony and Peter pulled up. Peter’s heart pounded fast in his chest as Morgan lifted her head to look at the car, and for a second, her brows furrowed together, and Peter looked at Tony nervously—because Tony had been the one to invite Peter to pick Morgan up from school with him, and Peter had hesitated, because “are you sure?”, and Tony hadn’t been sure, but they’d “figure it out together”.

And now Peter sat shotgun, his heart beating too fast, and then he felt a hand—Tony’s hand—wrap around his. And squeeze.

“Hey, Morgan,” Peter said lightly, rolling down the window. “Did you wait long?”

Morgan hesitated. For a second, Peter thought Morgan wasn’t going to say anything, but then she smiled. “Nah,” she said, opening the passenger door. “Glad to see you slowpokes, that’s all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> one more chapter coming this Friday! :') 
> 
> As always, comments/kudos are greatly appreciated!!


	28. TWENTY-EIGHT

“ _Peter_ , where’s my— _oh_.”

A teasing laugh, and then Morgan heard her daddy say, embarrassed, “I swear I knew that.”

“Sure you did.”

Morgan only had a few seconds to school her expression into one of pure neutrality as Tony and Peter both came out of the bedroom. Peter, wearing a plaid shirt that Morgan was fairly certain her dad used to wear, and Tony wearing one of his nicer sweaters. “What’re you doing, birthday girl?” Peter asked, rubbing his hand against Morgan’s head as he passed by.

“Waiting for _you guys_ ,” Morgan said as Peter tossed her an exasperated look. She slid off the couch. “Besides, no one’s come yet.”

Peter tilted his head at the door. “Sure about that?” he asked, and a second later, the doorbell rang. Morgan perked up, and heart racing, she ran for the door.

\--

Hours later, Morgan found herself sitting at the lake next to some of her newfound friends. She still wasn’t sure what to make of most of them: just that they were her classmates a few months ago, and now they all sat together during lunch and swapped snacks and made pinky-swear promises at recess. She liked all of them, and they all seemed to like her, which Morgan decided was important and good. Right now, she was flicking water at them, and they were flicking water back, all giggling but not in the mean way that other kids used to do.

And when Morgan lifted her eyes above her friends, she could see the rest of her family and friends in other parts of the lake or still lounging around the backyard. Natasha was resting on a hammock, a baseball hat tugged low over her eyes. Wanda was resting on a nearby hammock, but every once in a while, she sent a small zap of red energy towards Natasha’s hammock to keep it rocking—and whenever Natasha would turn around, Wanda would pretend to be interested in her nails.

Behind Natasha, Rhodey was arguing about something with Thor and Bruce, who just seemed rather bemused by Morgan’s uncle’s growing agitation.

And behind those three, sitting at one of the tables, Uncle Steve was holding hands with a dark-haired man who Morgan could only assume was Bucky. She didn’t really know Bucky well: she only saw the few pictures Steve would show Morgan whenever he came around to visit, and in those photos, Bucky had worn the biggest smiles. Now, Bucky smiled with a certain softness that reminded Morgan briefly of Tony and Peter.

Which, speaking of:

Morgan found Tony and Peter standing by the sliding doors. They were talking to one another, their heads bent low in the way they always did when they were really, really happy. Morgan had a feeling they hadn’t told any of their other friends about what was going on yet, just because when all of their friends walked into the house, Morgan had noticed that Peter and Tony had stayed some distance apart from each other.

Morgan wasn’t sure exactly when they were going to tell them, but still, she couldn’t help but wonder exactly what the whole point in hiding was: she could tell now, mostly because whenever Peter said something, Tony would smile like Peter had just saved the world (which, Morgan supposed, he might as well have, given their daily jobs).

\--

But what Morgan didn’t know was that right now, Natasha was laughing lightly to herself at how stupidly obvious Tony was. She wasn’t entirely sure what to think of Tony’s relationship with Peter—she had her suspicions since that one video call to Tony and Peter after the first Green Goblin attack, had noticed the slight flush in Peter’s cheek and the slight lilt in Tony’s voice. Natasha had almost been insulted at the concept that Tony and Peter would think she wouldn’t find them out so fast, but she knew. She knew very well.

She wasn’t sure what the two were still playing at, to be honest. Peter was young and impulsive, Tony older and impulsive—but she saw Morgan looking at her dad, and Morgan seemed happy enough, so Natasha figured she could be happy for those idiots, too.

\--

And Morgan didn’t know that later, perhaps a few days from now, Rhodey would walk into the garage to find Peter and Tony kissing in the garage. He would find Tony cupping Peter’s face so tenderly, so gently, and Rhodey would stop mid-step, feeling a mixture of horror and confusion before FRIDAY would report (a little too late) that Tony and Peter had a surprise visitor.

And there would be some stumbled explanation, mostly with Peter stammering, and Tony holding Peter fast, because they weren’t going to do the same thing as last time: no, they were going to do this _together_ , and Rhodey would sit in the living room, still half-numbed with shock as Tony slowly explained what _this_ was, what Peter meant, and Peter would start talking then too, his mouth running about a mile a minute as Rhodey tried to keep up, and then Rhodey would eventually hold up his hand, exhausted.

“Okay, okay,” Rhodey would finally relent. “I get it. _I get it_.” He would stand up, look at the two of them, shake his head, and mumble, “God, at least give me a warning next time.” (But Tony and Peter would always forget to warn Rhodey, and Rhodey would just shake his head in mock exasperation. But he was happy for Tony. It had been a while since he had seen his best friend smile like that.)

\--

And Morgan didn’t know that perhaps a few weeks from now, Tony and Peter would break the news to Steve. Natasha would have kept the secret to herself, of course, because she knew that this was Tony's business. Steve, on the other hand, could only process the news with furrowed eyebrows and a frown before saying that he needed to think it through.

Steve would come around just a little later, though, when they would all get tangled up in some operation: with Tony landing himself in the medical bay, and then Peter, despite his own broken ribs, pushing into the room with tears streaming down his grimy face.

And Steve would silently step away, wondering if he should maybe escort Peter to medical aid himself when Tony would suddenly mumble Peter’s name, reach blindly until he would find Peter’s hand. And Steve would watch as Peter sank into Tony’s chest, his hands wrapped tightly around Tony’s as he repeated, “I’m here, I’m here, I’m right here…”

And Steve would look at them and slowly realize that maybe Peter wasn’t just a kid, and maybe Tony wasn’t just a broken man. Hell, he wouldn’t have been allowed to hold hands with Bucky back in his time, let alone marry him, so what right did he have to look down on Tony and Peter?

\--

And Morgan didn’t know that perhaps even a little later after that, Happy, May, Tony, and Peter would all have an awkward dinner together. May would have been relaxed by then, but she would have to join Peter and Tony in telling Happy that _yes_ , everything was fine, and that _well_ , they were only choosing to tell him this now because Peter and Tony have come far along in their relationship to start breaking the news to more and more people.

Happy would be baffled, and there would be a few minutes of calm before Happy would suddenly exclaim, “ _so you’re telling me_ _that_ —” The dinner party would end eventually though, and Peter and Tony would go home with exchanged shrugs.

Every time Happy would come around to the house, though, he would seem to forget that Peter and Tony were _together_ until he finally came in to find Tony going out of his mind because Peter was running a high fever and vomiting and _things were not good_.

And Happy would have to sit Tony down, tell him to take a deep breath— _things were going to be fine_ —and then Happy would call May to ask for any advice on how to handle a very sick Peter Parker, and he would get off the phone to find that Tony had already gone back into the bedroom, and even though Peter looked sweaty and gross, Happy still found Tony pressing a light kiss on Peter’s forehead, and Happy decided that maybe his former boss had found someone to settle down with again, after all.

\--

And Morgan didn’t know that many, many years later, she would come home by nervously introducing her first girlfriend. She wouldn’t have known that the girl who she had splashed water at on her twelfth birthday would be the girl who she would later hold hands with in the high school hallways or take to prom, but in the years to come, she would find herself tugging that same girl home to the lake house, where Peter and Tony would cook them dinner, and they’d all sit around talking, and then they would watch a movie all together, but Morgan would drag her girlfriend away as soon as the end credits started rolling, and then Peter and Tony would chirp a pleasant goodnight before Morgan would duck into her bedroom, girlfriend safely in tow.

And they would be lying down on the bed next to each other, fingers clasped around each other, and then Morgan’s girlfriend would ask, “How did your dads fall in love?”

And Morgan would stare up at the ceiling, trying to remember when it all started. She would remember the more difficult days, when Peter would coax Tony out of his room. She would remember the days when Peter would hold Tony’s wrists on the kitchen floor, their foreheads touching as Morgan sat in the living room with May.

She would remember a particular day on the lake, a particular walk away from an ice cream shop as she looked up at Peter, who had been talking about moving. But then she would remember walking past the garage from even before then, when Peter and Tony would be working on something together with their heads bent over something together. She would remember sweet summer nights, when Peter would be splashing water at Tony, and then she would remember movie nights, when Peter and Tony would be sitting on the couch and Morgan on the floor. She would remember operations gone wrong and a certain fight in New York City, and she would remember them looking at each other like the sun had finally come up.

And then she would remember a warm spring day, with Peter and Tony exchanging unbreakable promises to each other. She would remember how she had cried a little, and how she had hugged them both, and she would remember how Peter and Tony held onto each other as they danced, and she would remember feeling safer than she ever had been in a long, long time.

And she would remember thinking that ah, this was all about healing and falling in love with the person who just loves you because you are you. Not loving you to help you and heal you, but loving you wholly and completely, and the healing is just one small aspect of it.

And then Morgan would finally turn to her girlfriend and decide to say, “They fell in love slowly. And then entirely.”

And then her girlfriend would give Morgan a quizzical smile, and then they would settle back into bed, Morgan resting her head against her girlfriend’s shoulder, while her girlfriend, too, would be thinking about how Morgan and she had fallen in love slowly, and then entirely—starting with the times they sat together at lunch and swapped snacks and made pinky-swear promises during recess to now, with hands holding each other as they studied for the SATs and pretending to learn biology by literally sticking their heads into textbooks and texting each other at one in the morning.

And Morgan would slide out of bed eventually in the early hours of the morning, her girlfriend still asleep, and she would make her way into the living room, and she would find Peter and Tony still on the couch: Peter with his head resting on Tony’s shoulder, Tony with his arm draped protectively around Peter. And Morgan would take a quick picture just to add on to the growing collection of pictures she had of her family.

And she would go back to bed, throw the blankets over her girlfriend and herself, and she would fall back asleep, feeling safe and sound.

\--

But now, all of that wasn’t happening just yet. Now, Morgan Stark was celebrating her twelfth birthday with her friends and her family—with her one friend who wouldn’t be her girlfriend until much later, and with her family who weren’t quite aware of how much of a family they would all become in just a few months.

But for now, when everyone started singing “Happy Birthday” to her at the end of the night, Morgan found herself looking at Peter and Tony again. It was dark, and the only source of light were from the candles on the cake and the faint fairy lights around the trees, but Morgan could make out Peter and Tony’s hands twined around one another.

And Morgan thought about her mommy for a second—thought about her mommy watching from the sky, and she wondered briefly how her mommy would feel about seeing her daddy holding hands with someone else. But then Morgan saw Peter just briefly lean in to whisper something in Tony’s ear, saw Tony’s face soften, and then Peter and Tony were looking right back at Morgan, their faces so happy and so proud, and Morgan found herself looking back up at the sky.

She had a feeling her mommy would be just fine.

Morgan blew out her candles.

_-fin-_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cannot thank you guys enough for all the wonderful support you've given me over the last few months. Writing this fic has been an absolute joy that's really kept me afloat in this hectic year of 2020. I am definitely not ready to let go of Peter and Tony (specifically in this 'verse), so there might be a short story or two in the next few days where I just give little snapshots of their life together afterwards. (However, that's still in the air because I've only written bits and pieces of some of the parts.) 
> 
> Other news: I've just released another Starker AU fic! (So if ya'll are willing to stick around for another crazy adventure, check out my dashboard for more!) 
> 
> But in the meantime, thank you so much for sticking with this story. I was so daunted by pursuing this project as my first entry into the Starker fandom, but really, if it wasn't for all of your support, I would have given up on this story a long time ago. 
> 
> So thank you. I love you all 3000. <3

**Author's Note:**

> I promise I love Pepper Potts, and I didn't want to kill her, but I also didn't know what to do with the Peter/Tony dynamic with her still around. (Because I want to respect the love that Tony obviously has for Pepper and vice versa.) 
> 
> Comments/kudos are always appreciated!


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